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THE POEMS AND BALLADS 

OF 

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 



COMPLETE EDITIOW 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

MCMXIX 






Copyright, 1895, 1913, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 










CONTENTS 
A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 



TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM 

PAGE 

I Bed in Summer t 

II A Thought 2 

III At the Sea-side 3 

IV Young Night Thought 4 

V Whole Duty of Children 5 

VI Rain 6 

VII Pirate Story 7 

VIII Foreign Lands 8 

IX Windy Nights 9 

X Travel 10 

XI Singing 12 

XII Looking Forward 13 

XIII A Good Play 14 

XIV Where Go the Boats? 15 

XV Auntie's Skirts 16 

XVI The Land of Counterpane 17 

XVII The Land of Nod 18 

XVIII My Shadow 19 

XIX System 20 

XX A Good Boy 21 

XXI Escape at Bedtime 22 

XXII Marching Song 23 

XXIII The Cow 24 

XXIV Happy Thought 25 

XXV The Wind 26 

XXVI Keepsake Mill ... 27 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XXVII Good and Bad Children 29 

XXVill Foreign Children 30 

XXIX The Sun's Travels 31 

XXX The Lamplighter 32 

XXXI My Bed is a Boat 33 

XXXII The Moon 34 

XXXIII The Swing 35 

XXXIV Time to Rise }6 

XXXV Looking-glass River 37 

XXXVI Fairy Bread 39 

XXXVIl From a Railway Carriage 40 

XXXVIII Winter-time 41 

XXXIX The Hayloft 42 

XL Farewell to the Farm 43 

XL! North-west Passage 44 

1 Good-Night 

2 Shadow March 

3 In Port 



THE CHILD ALONE 

I The Unseen Playmate 49 

II My Ship and I 50 

ill My Kingdom 51 

IV Picture-books in Vv^inter 53 

V My Treasures 54 

VI Block City 55 

VII The Land of Story-books 57 

VIII Armies in the Fire 59 

IX The Little Land 60 

GARDEN DAYS 

I Night and Day 65 

II Nest Eggs 67 

III The Flowers 69 

IV Summer Sun i 70 

V The Dumb Soldier" 71 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

V! Autumn Fires 73 

Vll The Gardener 74 

VIII Historical Associations 75 

ENVOYS 

I To Willie and Henrietta 79 

II To My Mother 80 

in To Auntie 81 

IV To Minnie 82 

V To My Name-child 85 

VI To Any Reader 87 



?ri 



UNDERiVOODS 



Book I — In English 

I ENVOY : Go, Little Book 97 

II A SONG OF THE ROAD : The Gauger Walked . . 98 

III THE CANOE SPEAKS : On the Great Streams . . 100 

IV It is the Season 102 

V THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL: A Naked House, a 

Naked Moor 104 

VI A VISIT FROM THE SEA: Far from the Loud 

Sea Beaches 106 

VII TO A GARDENER : Friend, in my Mountain-side 

Demesne 107 

VIII TO MINNIE : A Picture Frame for you to Fill . . 109 

IX TO K. DE M. : A Lover of the Moorland Bare . .110 

X TO N. V. DE G. S. : The Unfathomable Sea . . .111 
XI TO WILL H. LOW: Youth now Flees 112 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XII TO MRS. WILL H. LOW: Even in the Bluest 

Noonday of July 114 

XIII TO H. F. BROWN: I Sit and Wait . . . .115 

XIV TO ANDREW LANG: Dear Andrew . . . .117 
XV ET TU IN ARCADIA VIXISTI : In Ancient Tales, 

O Friend 119 

XVI TO W. E. HENLEY : The Year Runs through her 

Phases 122 

XVII HENRY JAMES: Who Comes to-night? .... 124 

XVIII THE MIRROR SPEAKS: Where the Bells . . .125 
XIX KATHARINE : We See you as we See a Face . .127 

XX TO F. J. S. : I Read, Dear Friend 128 

XXI REQUIEM : Under the Wide and Starry Sky . . 129 

XXII THE CELESTIAL SURGEON : If I Have Faltered. 130 

XXIII OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS: Out of the Sun. 131 

XXIV Not yet, my Soul 134 

XXV It is not yours, O Mother, to Complain . . . .136 

XXVI THE SICK CHILD: O Mother, Lay your Hand 

ON MY Brow 138 

XXVII IN MEMORIAM F. a. S. : Yet, O Stricken Heart. 139 

XXVIIl TO MY FATHER: Peace and her Huge Invasion . 140 

XXIX IN THE STATES : With Half a Heart .... 142 

XXX A PORTRAIT: I Am a Kind of Farthing Dip . .143 

XXXI Sing Clearlier, Muse 144 

XXXII A CAMP : The Bed Was Made 145 

XXXIII THE COUNTRY OF THE CAMISARDS : We 

Travelled in the Print of Olden Wars . . . 146 

XXXIV SKERRY VORE : For Love of Lovely Words . .147 
XXXV SKERRYVORE: THE PARALLEL: Here All is 

Sunny 148 

XXXVI My House, I Say 149 

XXXVII My Body Which My Dungeon is 150 

XXXVIII Say not of me that weakly I declined . . . .152 

Book II — In Scots 

Table of Common Scottish Vowel Sounds 154 

I THE MAKER TO POSTERITY : Far 'yont Amang the 

Years to be 155 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

11 ILLE TERRARUM : Frae Nirly, Nippw', Eas'lan Breeze 157 

III When Aince Aprile has Fairly Come 160 

IV A MILE AN' A BITTOCK 161 

V A LOWDEN SABBATH MORN : The Clinkum-clank o' 

Sabbath Bells 163 

VI THE SPAEWIFE : O, I Wad Like to Ken 169 

Vn THE BLAST, 1875 : It's Rainin'. Weet's the Gairden 

Sod 171 

VIII THE COUNTERBLAST, 1886: My Bonny Man, the 

Warld, it's True 173 

IX TyE COUNTERBLAST IRONICAL: It's Strange that 

God Should Fash to Frame 176 

X THEIR LAUREATE TO AN ACADEMY CLASS DINNER 

CLUB: Dear Thamson Class, Whaure'er I Gang . 178 

XI EMBRO HIE KIRK : The Lord Himsel' in Former Days 181 
XII THE SCOTSMAN'S RETURN FROM ABROAD: In 

MoNY A Foreign Pairt I've Been 184 

XIII Late in the Nicht 188 

XIV MY CONSCIENCE: Of a' the ills That Flesh can Fear 191 
XV TO DOCTOR JOHN BROWN : By Lyne and Tyne, by 

Thames and Tees 193 

XVI It's an Owercome Sooth for Age an' Youth . . . .196 

Book III 
Being Songs of Travel and Other Verses Written 
Principally in the South Seas, 1888-1894 

I THE VAGABOND: Give to me the Life I Love . . .199 

II YOUTH AND LOVE : I: Once Only by the Garden Gate 201 

III YOUTH AND LOVE : II : To the Heart of Youth . 202 

IV THE UNFORGOTTEN: I: In Dreams, Unhappy . . .203 

V THE UNFORGOTTEN : II : She Rested by the Broken 

Brook 204 

VI The Infinite Shining Heavens 205 

VII MADRIGAL : Plain as the Glistering Planets . . . 206 

VIII To You, LET Snow and Roses 208 

IX LET BEAUTY AWAKE 209 

X I Know not How it is With You 210 

XI I Will Make You Brooches and Toys 211 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Xn WE HAVE LOVED OF YORE : Berried Brake 

AND Reedy Island 212 

XIII DITTY : The Cock shall Crow 214 

XIV MATER TRIUMPH ANS: Son of my Woman's Body. 215 
XV Bright is the Ring of Words 216 

XVI In the Highlands, in the Country Places . . . .217 

XVII WANDERING WILLIE : Home no more Home . .218 

XVIII TO DR. HAKE : In the Beloved Hour . . . .220 

XIX TO : I Knew thee Strong 221 

XX The Morning Drum-Call 223 

XXI I Have Trod 224 

XXII He Hears with Gladdened Heart 225 

XXIII THE LOST OCCASION : Farewell, Fair Day . . 226 

XXIV IF THIS WERE FAITH : God, if this were enough. 227 
XXV MY WIFE: Trusty, Dusky, Vivid, True .... 229 

XXVI WINTER : In Rigorous Hours 230 

XXVII The Stormy Evening Closes 231 

XXVIII TO AN ISLAND PRINCESS : Since Long Ago . . 232 

XXIX TO KALAKAUA : The Silver Ship, my King . . .234 

XXX TO PRINCESS KAIULANI : Forth from her Land. 235 

XXXI TO MOTHER MARYANNE: To see the Infinite Pity. 236 

XXXII IN MEMORIAM, E. H.: I Knew a Silver Head . . 237 

XXXIII TO MY WIFE: Long must Elapse Ere You . . . 238 

XXXIV TO THE MUSE : Resign the Rhapsody .... 240 

XXXV TO MY OLD FAMILIARS : Do you Remember . . 241 
XXXVI The Tropics Vanish 243 

XXXVII TO S. C. : I Heard the Pulse 245 

XXXVIII THE HOUSE OF TEMBINOKA: Let us, who Part. 247 

XXXIX THE WOODMAN : In all the Grove 252 

XL TROPIC RAIN : As the Single Pang of the Blow 257 

XLI AN END OF TRAVEL : Let now your Soul . . 259 

XLII We Uncommiserate Pass 260 

XLIII THE LAST SIGHT: Once More 1 Saw Him . . . 261 

XLIV Sing Me a Song 262 

XLV TO S. R. CROCKETT : Blows the Wind To-day . 264 

XLVl EVENSONG : The Embers of the Day 265 



CONTENTS 



"POEMS "POSTHUMOUSLY "PUBLISHED 



PAGE 

A MARTIAL ELEGY FOR SOME LEAD SOLDIERS : For 

Certain Soldiers 269 

VERSES WRITTEN IN 1872 : Though He That Ever . . .270 
TO H. C. BUNNER : You Know the Way to Arcady . . . 272 
FROM WISHING-LAND : Dear Lady, Tapping at Your Door 273 



"BALLADS 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

Dedication : to Ori a Ori 278 

I The Slaying of Tamatea 279 

II The Venging of Tamatea 289 

III Rahero 302 

Notes to the Song of Rahero 312 

THE FEAST OF FAMINE 

I The Priest's Vigil 317 

II The Lovers 321 

III The Feast 325 

IV The Raid ... . .... . 333 

Notes to the Feast of Famine 339 

TICONDEROGA : A Legend of the West Highlands. 

I The Saying of the Name 343 

II The Seeking of the Name 348 

III The Place of the Name 351 

Notes to Ticonderoga 334 

HEATHER ALE : A Galloway Legend 357 

Note to Heather Ale 361 

CHRISTMAS AT SEA 365 



A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 



TO 

ALISON CUNNINGHAM 

FROM HER BOY 

FOR the long nights you lay awake 
And watched for my unworthy sake: 
For your most comfortable hand 
That led me through the uneven land: 
For all the story-books you read: 
For all the pains you comforted : 
For all you pitied, all you bore, 
In sad and happy days of yore: — 
My second Mother, my first Wife. 
The angel of my infant life — 
From the sick child, now well and old, 
Take, nurse, the little book you hold ! 

And grant it, Heaven, that all who read 
May find as dear a nurse at need. 
And every child who lists my rhyme, 
In the bright, fireside, nursery clime, 
May hear it in as kind a voice 
As made my childish days rejoice ! 



R. I.. S. 



BED IN SUMMER 

IN winter I get up at night 
And dress by yellow candle-light 
In summer, quite the other way, 
I have to go to bed by day. 

1 have to go to bed and see 
The birds still hopping on the tree, 
Or hear the grown-up people's feet 
Still going past me in the street. 

And does it not seem hard to you, 
When all the sky is clear and blue, 
And I should like so much to play, 
To have to go to bed by day ? 



A THOUGHT 



IT is very nice to think 
Tile world is full of meat and drink 
Witii little children saying grace 
In every Christian kind of place. 



3 



w 



III 

AT THE SEA-SIDE 

HEN I was down beside the sea 
A wooden spade they gave to me 
To dig the sandy shore. 



My holes were empty like a cup. 
In every hole the sea came up, 
Till it could come no more. 



IV 

YOUNG NIGHT THOUGHT 

A LL night long and every night, 
l\ When my mama puts out the light, 
I see the people marching by, 
As plain as day, before my eye. 

Armies and emperors and kings, 
All carrying different kinds of things. 
And marching in so grand a way, 
You never saw the like by day. 

So fine a show was never seen 
At the great circus on the green; 
For every kind of beast and man 
Is marching in that caravan. 

At first they move a little slow, 
But still the faster on they go. 
And still beside them close I keep 
Until we reach the town of Sleep. 



4 



WHOLE DUTY OF CHILDREN 



A CHILD should always say what's true 
And speak when he is spoken to, 
And behave mannerly at table; 
At least as far as he is able. 



VI 

RAIN 

THE rain is raining all around 
It falls on field and tree, 
h rains on the umbrellas here, 
And on the ships at sea. 



vn 

PIRATE STORY 

THREE of US afloat in the meadow by the swing, 
Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea. 
Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, 
And waves are on the meadow like the waves there 
are at sea. 

Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat, 
Wary of the weather and steering by a star ? 

Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat, 
To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar ? 

Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea — 
Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar! 

Quick, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they 
can be. 
The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore. 



VIII 

FOREIGN LANDS 

UP into the cherry tree 
Who should climb but little me? 
I held the trunk with both my hands 
And looked abroad on foreign lands. 

I saw the next door garden lie, 
Adorned with flowers, before my eye, 
And many pleasant places more 
That I had never seen before. 

I saw the dimpling river pass 
And be the sky's blue looking-glass; 
The dusty roads go up and down 
With people tramping into town. 

If I could find a higher tree 
Farther and farther I should see. 
To where the grown-up river slips 
Into the sea among the ships, 

To where the roads on either hand 
Lead onward into fairy land, 
Where all the children dine at five, 
And all the playthings come alive. 
8 



IX 

WINDY NIGHTS 

WHENEVER the moon and stars are set 
Whenever the wind is high, 
All night long in the dark and wet, 

A man goes riding by. 
Late in the night when the fires are out. 
Why does he gallop and gallop about ? 

Whenever the trees are crying aloud, 

And ships are tossed at sea, 
By, on the highway, low and loud. 

By at the gallop goes he. 
By at the gallop he goes, and then 
By he comes back at the gallop again. 



X 

TRAVEL 

I SHOULD like to rise and go 
Where the golden apples grow; — 
Where below another sky 
Parrot islands anchored lie, 
And, watched by cockatoos and goats. 
Lonely Crusoes building boats; — 
Where in sunshine reaching out 
Eastern cities, miles about, 
Are with mosque and minaret 
Among sandy gardens set. 
And 'the rich goods from near and far 
Hang for sale in the bazaar; — 
Where the Great Wall round China goes, 
And on one side the desert blows. 
And with bell and voice and drum. 
Cities on the other hum; — 
Where are forests, hot as fire. 
Wide as England, tall as a spire, 
Full of apes and cocoa-nuts 
And the negro hunters' huts; — 
Where the knotty crocodile 
Lies and blinks in the Nile, 
And the red flamingo flies 

lO 



TRAVEL 

Hunting fish before his eyes; — 
Where in jungles, near and far, 
Man-devouring tigers are, 
Lying close and giving ear 
Lest the hunt be drawing near, 
Or a comer-by be seen 
Swinging in a palanquin ; — 
Where among the desert sands 
Some deserted city stands, 
All its children, sweep and prince, 
Grown to manhood ages since, 
Not a foot in street or house. 
Not a stir of child or mouse. 
And when kindly falls the night. 
In all the town no spark of light. 
There I'll come when I'm a man 
With a camel caravan; 
Light a fire in the gloom 
Of some dusty dining room; 
See the pictures on the walls. 
Heroes, fights and festivals; 
And in a corner find the toys 
Of the old Egyptian boys. 



II 



XI 

SINGING 



OF speckled eggs the birdie sings 
And nests among tiie trees; 
The sailor sings of ropes and things 
In ships upon the seas. 

The children sing in far Japan, 
The children sing in Spain; 

The organ with the organ man 
Is singing in the rain. 



\2 



XII 

LOOKING FORWARD 



WHEN I am grown to man's estate 
I shall be very proud and great, 
And tell the other girls and boys 
Not to meddle with my toys. 



I? 



XIII 

A GOOD PLAY 

WE built a ship upon the stairs 
All made of the back-bedroom chairs. 
And filled it full of sofa pillows 
To go a-sailing on the billows. 

We took a saw and several nails, 
And water in the nursery pails; 
And Tom said, " Let us also take 
An apple and a slice of cake; " — 
Which was enough for Tom and me 
To go a-sailing on, till tea. 

We sailed along for days and days, 
And had the very best of plays; 
But Tom fell out and hurt his knee, 
So there was no one left but me. 



•4 



XIV 

WHERE GO THE BOATS ? 

DARK brown is the river. 
Golden is the sand. 
It flows along for ever, 
With trees on either hand. 

Green leaves a-floating, 

Castles of the foam, 
Boats of mine a-boating — 

Where will all come home ? 

On goes the river 
And out past the mill. 

Away down the valley, 
Away down the hill. 

Away down the river, 
A hundred miles or more. 

Other little children 
Shall bring my boats ashore. 



i5 



XV 

auntie's skirts 

WHENEVER Auntie moves around, 
Her dresses make a curious souna, 
They trail behind her up the floor, 
And trundle after through the door. 



XVI 

THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE 

WHEN I was sick and lay a-bed, 
I had two pillows at my head. 
And all my toys beside me lay 
' To keep me happy all the day. 

And sometimes for an hour or so 
I watched my leaden soldiers go, 
With different uniforms and drills, 
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills; 

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets 
All up and down among the sheets; 
Or brought my trees and houses out. 
And planted cities all about. 

I was the giant great and still 
That sits upon the pillow-hill, 
And sees before him, dale and plain. 
The pleasant land of counterpane. 



IT 



XVII 

THE LAND OF NOD 

FROM breakfast on through all the day 
At home among my friends I stay, 
But every night I go abroad 
Afar into the land of Nod. 

All by myself 1 have to go, 

With none to tell me what to do — 

All alone beside the streams 

And up the mountain-sides of dreams. 

The strangest things are there for me, 
Both things to eat and things to see, 
And many frightening sights abroad 
Till morning in the land of Nod. 

Try as I like to find the way, 
I never can get back by day. 
Nor can remember plain and clear 
The curious music that I hear. 



i8 



XVIII 

MY SHADOW 

I HAVE a little shadow that goes in and out with me, 
And what can be the use of him is more than I can 
see. 
He is very, very like me fiom the heels up to the head; 
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. 

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to 

grow — 
Not at all like proper children, which is always very 

slow; 
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber 

ball, 
And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him 

at all. 

He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play. 
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. 
He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see; 
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks 
to me! 

One morning, very early, before the sun was up, 
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; 
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head. 
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in 
bed. 

10 



XIX 

SYSTEM 

EVERY night my prayers I say, 
And get my dinner every day; 
And every day that I've been good, 
I get an orange after food. 

The child that is not clean and neat. 
With lots of toys and things to eat, 
He is a naughty child, I'm sure — 
Or else his dear papa is poor. 



20 



XX 

A GOOD BOY 



I 



WOKE before the morning, I was happy all the day, 
I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to 
play. 



And now at last the sun is going down behind the 

wood, 
And I am very happy, for I know that I've been good. 

My bed is waiting cool and fresh, with linen smooth and 

fair, 
And I must off to sleepsin-by, and not forget my prayer. 

I know that, till to-morrow I shall see the sun arise. 
No ugly dream shall fright my mind, no ugly sight my 
eyes. 

But slumber hold me tightly till I waken in the dawn. 
And hear the thrushes singing in the lilacs round the 
lawn. 



21 



XXI 

ESCAPE AT BEDTIME 

THE lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out 
Through the blinds and the windows and bars; 
And high overhead and all moving about, 

There were thousands of millions of stars. 
There ne'er were such thousands of leaves on a tree, 

Nor of people in church or the Park, 
As the crowds of the stars that looked down upon me. 
And that glittered and winked in the dark. 

The Dog, and the Plough, and the Hunter, and all, 

And the star of the sailor, and Mars, 
These shone in the sky, and the pail by the wall 

Would be half full of water and stars. 
They saw me at last, and they chased me with cries, 

And they soon had me packed into bed; 
But the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes, 

And the stars going round in my head. 



32 



XXII 

MARCHING SONG 

BRING the comb and play upon it! 
Marching, here we come! 
Willie cocks his highland bonnet, 
Johnnie beats the drum. 

Mary Jane commands the party, 

Peter leads the rear; 
Feet in time, alert and hearty, 

Each a Grenadier! 

All in the most martial manner 

Marching double-quick; 
While the napkin like a banner 

Waves upon the stick! 

Here's enough of fame and pillage, 

Great commander Jane! 
Now that we've been round the village, 

Let's go home again. 



»i 



XXIII 

THE COW 

THE friendly cow all red and white, 
I love with all my heart: 
She gives me cream with all her might. 
To eat with apple-tart. 

She wanders lowing here and there. 

And yet she cannot stray, 
All in the pleasant open air, 

The pleasant light of day; 

And blown by all the winds that pass 
And wet with all the showers, 

She walks among the meadow grass 
And eats the meadow flowers. 



34 



T 



XXIV 

HAPPY THOUGHT 

HE world is so full of a number of things, 
I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings. 



*% 



XXV 

THE WIND 

I SAW you toss the kites on high 
And blow the birds about the sky; 
And all around I heard you pass, 
Like ladies' skirts across the grass — 
O wind, a-blowing all day long, 
O wind, that sings so loud a song I 

I saw the different things you did, 
But always you yourself you hid. 
I felt you push, I heard you call, 
I could not see yourself at all — 

O wind, a-blowing all day long, 
O wind, that sings so loud a song! 

O you that are so strong and cold, 
O blower, are you young or old ? 
Are you a beast of field and tree, 
Or just a stronger child than me ? 
O wind, a-blowing all day long, 
O wind, that sings so loud a song! 



30 



XXVI 

KEEPSAKE MILL 

OVER the borders, a sin without pardon, 
Breai^ing the branches and crawling below, 
Out through the breach in the wall of the garden, 
Down by the banks of the river, we go. 

Here is the mill with the humming of thunder. 
Here is the weir with the wonder of foam, 

Here is the sluice with the race running under — 
Marvellous places, though handy to home I 

Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller, 
Stiller the note of the birds on the hill; 

Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller. 
Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill. 

Years may go by, and the wheel in the river 
Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day. 

Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever 
Long after all of the boys are away. 

Home from the Indies and home from the ocean- 
Heroes and soldiers we all shall come home; 

Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion, 
Turning and churning that river to foam. 

27 



A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 

You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled, 

I with your marble of Saturday last, 
Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled, 

Here we shall meet and remember the past. 



28 



XXVII 

GOOD AND BAD CHILDREN 

CHILDREN, you are very little, 
And your bones are very brittle; 
If you would grow great and stately. 
You must try to walk sedately. 

You must still be bright and quiet, 
And content with simple diet; 
And remain, through all bewild'ring, 
Innocent and honest children. 

Happy hearts and happy faces, 
Happy play in grassy places — 
That was how, in ancient ages. 
Children grew to kings and sages. 

But the unkind and the unruly. 
And the sort who eat unduly, 
They must never hope for glory — 
Theirs is quite a different story! 

Cruel children, crying babies. 
All grow up as geese and gabies. 
Hated, as their age increases, 
By their nephews and their nieces. 
29 



XXVIII 

FOREIGN CHILDREN 

LITTLE Indian, Sioux or Crow, 
a Little frosty Eskimo, 
Little Turk or Japanee, 
O! don't you wish that you were me? 

You have seen the scarlet trees 
And the lions over seas; 
You have eaten ostrich eggs, 
And turned the turtles off their legs. 

Such a life is very fine, 
But it's not so nice as mine: 
You must often, as you trod, 
Have wearied not to be abroad. 

You have curious things to eat, 
I am fed on proper meat; 
You must dwell beyond the foam, 
But I am safe and live at home. 

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow, 

Little frosty Eskimo, 

Little Turk or Japanee, 
O! don't you wish that you were me? 



30 



XXIX 

THE sun's travels 

THE sun is not a-bed, when I 
At night upon my pillow lie; 
Still round the earth his way he takes, 
And morning after morning makes. 

While here at home, in shining day, 
We round the sunny garden play, 
Each little Indian sleepy-head 
Is being kissed and put to bed. 

And when at eve I rise from tea, 
Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea; 
And all the children in the West 
Are getting up and being dressed. 



31 



XXX 

THE LAMPLIGHTER 

MY tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky; 
It's time to take the window to see Leerie going by ; 
For every night at teatime and before you take your seat, 
With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the 
street. 

Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea, 
And my papa's a banker and as rich as he can be; 
But 1, when 1 am stronger and can choose what I'm to do, 
O Leerie, I'll go round at night and light the lamps 
with you! 

For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door, 
And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more; 
And O! before you hurry by with ladder and with light, 
O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him to-night! 



ja 



XXXI 

MY BED IS A BOAT 

MY bed is like a little boat; 
Nurse helps me in when I embark; 
She girds me in my sailor's coat 
And starts me in the dark. 

At night, I go on board and say 
Good-night to all my friends on shore; 

I shut my eyes and sail away 
And see and hear no more. 

And sometimes things to bed I take, 
As prudent sailors have to do; 

Perhaps a slice of wedding-cake, 
Perhaps a toy or two. 

All night across the dark we steer; 

But when the day returns at last. 
Safe in my room, beside the pier, 

I find my vessel fast. 



33 



XXXII 

THE MOON 

THE moon has a face like the clock in the halJ; 
She shines on thieves on the garden wall, 
On streets and fields and harbour quays, 
And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees. 

The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse. 
The howling dog by the door of the house, 
The bat that lies in bed at noon, 
All love to be out by the light of the moon. 

But all of the things that belong to the day 
Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way ; 
And flowers and children close their eyes 
Till up in the morning the sun shall arise. 



34 



XXXIII 

THE SWING 

HOW do you like to go up in a swing. 
Up in the air so blue ? 
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing 
Ever a child can do! 

Up in the air and over the wall, 

Till I can see so wide, 
Rivers and trees and cattle and all 

Over the countryside — 

Till I look down on the garden green, 
Down on the roof so brown — 

Up in the air I go flying again, 
Up in the air and down! 



3J 



XXXIV 

TIME TO RISE 



A BIRDIE with a yellow bill 
Hopped upon the window sill. 
Cocked his shining eye and said: 
" Ain't you 'shamed, you sleepy-head!' 



36 



s 



XXXV 

LOOKING-GLASS RIVER 

MOOTH it slides upon its travel, 
Here a wimple, there a gleam — 
O the clean gravel! 
O the smooth stream ! 



Sailing blossoms, silver fishes, 
Paven pools as clear as air — 
How a child wishes 
To live down there! 

We can see our coloured faces 
Floating on the shaken poo! 
Down in cool places, 
Dim and very cool; 

Till a wind or water wrinkle. 
Dipping marten, plumping trout. 
Spreads in a twinkle 
And blots all out. 

See the rings pursue each other; 
All below grows black as night, 
Just as if mother 
Had blown out the light! 
3? 



A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 

Patience, children, just a minute — 
See the spreading circles die; 
The stream and all in it 
Will clear by-and-bv. 



18 



XXXVI 

FAIRY BREAD 

COME up here, O dusty feet! 
Here is fairy bread to eat. 
Here in my retiring room, 
Children, you may dine 
On the golden smell of broom 

And the shade of pine; 
And when you have eaten weU. 
Fairy stories hear and tell. 



39 



XXXVII 



FROM A RAILWAY CARRIAGE 



FASTER than fairies, faster than witches, 
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches; 
And charging along like troops in a battle, 
All through the meadows the horses and cattle: 
All of the sights of the hill and the plain 
Fly as thick as driving rain ; 
And ever again, in the wink of an eye, 
Painted stations whistle by. 

Here is a child who clambers and scrambles, 
All by himself and gathering brambles; 
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes; 
And there is the green for stringing the daisies 1 
Here is a cart run away in the road 
Lumping along with man and load; 
And here is a mill and there is a river: 
Each a glimpse and gone for ever! 



40 



XXXVIII 

WINTER-TIME 

LATE lies the wintry sun a-bed, 
-rf A frosty, fiery sleepy-head ; 
Blini^s but an hour or two ; and then, 
A blood-red orange, sets again. 

Before the stars have left the skies, 
At morning in the dark I rise; 
And shivering in my nakedness, 
By the cold candle, bathe and dress. 

Close by the jolly fire I s't 
To warm my frozen bones a bit; 
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore 
The colder countries round the door. 

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap 
Me in my comforter and cap ; 
The cold wind burns my face, and blows 
Its frosty pepper up my nose. 

Black are my steps on silver sod; 
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad ; 
And tree and house, and hill and lake. 
Are frosted like a wedding-cake. 



41 



XXXIX 

THE HAYLOFT 

THROUGH all the pleasant meadow-side 
The grass grew shoulder-high, 
Till the shining scythes went far and wide 
And cut it down to dry. 

These green and sweetly smelling crops 

They led in waggons home; 
And they piled them here in mountain tops 

For mountaineers to roam. 

Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail, 
Mount Eagle and Mount High; — 

The mice that in these mountains dwell, 
No happier are than I ! 

O what a joy to clamber there, 

O what a place for play. 
With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air, 

The happy hills of hay! 



42 



XL 

FAREWELL TO THE FARM 

THE coach is at the door at last; 
The eager children, mounting fast 
And kissing hands, in chorus sing: 
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! 

To house and garden, field and lawn, 
The meadow-gates we swang upon, 
To pump and stable, tree and swing. 
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! 

And fare you well for evermore, 
O ladder at the hayloft door, 
O hayloft where the cobwebs cling, 
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! 

Crack goes the whip, and off we go; 
The trees and houses smaller grow; 
Last, round the woody turn we swing: 
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! 



43 



XLI 

NORTH-WEST PASSAGE 

I. GOOD NIGHT. 

WHEN the bright lamp is carried in, 
The sunless hours again begin; 
O'er all without, in field and lane, 
The haunted night returns again. 

Now we behold the embers flee 
About the firelit hearth ; and see 
Our faces painted as we pass, 
Like pictures, on the window-glass. 

Must we to bed indeed ? Well then. 
Let us arise and go like men. 
And face with an undaunted tread 
The long black passage up to bed. 

Farewell, O brother, sister, sire! 
O pleasant party round the fire! 
The songs you sing, the tales you tell. 
Till far to-morrow, fare ye well ! 



44 



SHADOW MARCH. 



All round the house is the jet-black night; 

It stares through the window-pane; 
It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light, 

And it moves with the moving flame. 

Now my little heart goes a-beating like a drum, 
With the breath of the Bogie in my hair; 

And all round the candle the crooked shadows come, 
And go marching along up the stair. 

The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp, 
The shadow of the child that goes to bed — 

All the wicked shadows coming tramp, tramp, tramp. 
With the black night overhead. 



45 



IN PORT. 



Last, to the chamber where I lie 
My fearful footsteps patter nigh, 
And come from out the cold and gloom 
Into my warm and cheerful room. 

There, safe arrived, we turn about 
To keep the coming shadows out, 
And close the happy door at last 
On all the perils that we past. 

Then, when mamma goes by to bed. 
She shall come in with tip-toe tread, 
And see me lying warm and fast 
And in the Land of Nod at last. 



46 



THE CHILD ALONE 



THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE 

WHEN children are playing alone on the greeOf 
In comes the playmate that never was seen. 
When children are happy and lonely and good, 
The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood. 

Nobody heard him and nobody saw, 

His is a picture you never could draw. 

But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home, 

When children are happy and playing alone. 

He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass. 
He sings when you tinkle the musical glass; 
Whene'er you are happy and cannot tell why. 
The Friend of the Children is sure to be by! 

He loves to be little, he hates to be big, 
'Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig; 
'Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin 
That sides with the Frenchmen and never can win, 

'Tis he, when at night you go off to your bed. 
Bids you go to your sleep and not ^rouble your head; 
For wherever they're lying, in cupboard or shelf, 
'Tis he will take care of your playthings himself I 



49 



II 

MY SHIP AND I 

OIT'S I that am the captain of a tidy little ship, 
Of a ship that goes a-sailing on the pond; 
And my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about; 
But when I'm a little older, I shall find the secret out 
How to send my vessel sailing on beyond. 

For I mean to grow as little as the dolly at the helm, 

And the dolly I intend to come alive; 
And with him beside to help me, it's a-sailing I shall go, 
It's a-sailing on the water, when the jolly breezes blow 

And the vessel goes a divie-divie-dive, 

O it's then you'll see me sailing through the rushes and 
the reeds. 

And you'll hear the water singing at the prow; 
For beside the dolly sailor, I'm to voyage and explore, 
To land upon the island where no dolly was before, 

And to fire the penny cannon in the bow. 



50 



Ill 

MY KINGDOM 

DOWN by a shining water well 
I found a very little dell, 
No higher than my head. 
The heather and the gorse about 
In summer bloom were coming out, 
Some yellow and some red. 

I called the little pool a sea; 
The little hills were big to me; 

For I am very small. 
I made a boat, I made a town, 
I searched the caverns up and down, 

And named them one and all. 

And all about was mine, I said, 
The little sparrows overhead, 

The little minnows too. 
This was the world and 1 was king; 
For me the bees came by to sing, 

For me the swallows flew. 
5« 



A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 

I played there were no deeper seas, 
Nor any wider plains than these. 

Nor other kings than me. 
At last I heard my mother call 
Out from the house at evenfall, 

To call me home to tea. 

And I must rise and leave my dell, 
And leave my dimpled water well, 

And leave my heather blooms. 
Alas! and as my home I neared, 
How very big my nurse appeared, 

How great and cool the rooms! 



%a 



IV 

PICTURE-BOOKS IN WINTER 

SUMMER fading, winter comes — 
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, 
Window robins, winter rooks, 
And the picture story-booi^s. 

Water now is turned to stone 
Nurse and I can walk upon; 
Still we find the flowing brooks 
(n the picture story-books. 

All the pretty things put by, 
Wait upon the children's eye, 
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks, 
In the picture story-books. 

We may see how all things are 
Seas and cities, near and far, 
And the flying fairies' looks. 
In the picture story-books. 

How am I to sing your praise, 
Happy chimney-corner days. 
Sitting safe in nursery nooks, 
Reading picture story-books ? 



^ 



MY TREASURES 

THESE nuts, that I keep in the back of the nest 
Where all my lead soldiers are lying at rest, 
Were gathered in autumn by nursie and me 
In a wood with a well by the side of the sea. 

This whistle we made (and how clearly it sounds!) 
By the side of a field at the end of the grounds. 
Of a branch of a plane, with a knife of my own, 
It was nursie who made it, and nursie alone! 

The stone, with the white and the yellow and grey, 
We discovered I cannot tell how far away; 
And I carried it back although weary and cold, 
For though father denies it, I'm sure it is gold. 

But of all my treasures the last is the king, 
For there's very few children possess such a thing; 
And that is a chisel, both handle and blade. 
Which a man who was really a carpenter made. 



54 



VI 

BLOCK CITY 

WHAT are you able to build with your blocks ? 
Castles and palaces, temples and docks. 
Rain may keep raining, and others go roam. 
But I can be happy and building at home. 

Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea, 

There I'll establish a city for me: 

A kirk and a mill and a palace beside. 

And a harbour as well where my vessels may ride. 

Great is the palace with pillar and wall, 
A sort of a tower on the top of it all. 
And steps coming down in an orderly way 
To where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay. 

This one is sailing and that one is moored: 

Hark to the song of the sailors on board ! 

And see on the steps of my palace, the kings C 

Coming and going with presents and things! 

Now I have done with it, down let it go! 
All in a moment the town is laid low. 
Block upon block lying scattered and free. 
What is there left of my town by the sea ? 

55 



A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 

Yet as I saw it, I see it again, 
The kirk and the palace, the ships and the men. 
And as long as I live and where'er I may be, 
I'll always remember my town by the sea. 



se 



VII 

THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS 

AT evening when the lamp is lit, 
Around the fire my parents sit; 
They sit at home and talk and sing, 
And do not play at anything. 

Now, with my little gun, I crawl 
All in the dark along the wall, 
And follow round the forest track 
Away behind the sofa back. 

There, in the night, where none can spy, 
All in my hunter's camp I lie, 
And play at books that 1 have read 
Till it is time to go to bed. 

These are the hills, these are the woods. 
These are my starry solitudes ; 
And there the river by whose brink 
The roaring lions come to drink. 

I see the others far away 
As if in firelit camp they lay. 
And 1, like to an Indian scout, 
Around their party prowled about. 

57 



A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 

So, when my nurse comes in for me, 
Home I return across the sea, 
And go to bed with backward looks 
At my dear land of Story-books. 



58 



VIII 

ARMIES IN THE FIRE 

THE lamps now glitter down the street; 
Faintly sound the falling feet; 
And the blue even slowly falls 
About the garden trees and walls. 

Now in the falling of the gloom 
The red fire paints the empty room: 
And warmly on the roof it looks, 
And flickers on the backs of books. 

Armies march by tower and spire 
Of cities blazing, in the fire; — 
Till as I gaze with staring eyes, 
The armies fade, the lustre dies. 

Then once again the glow returns; 
Again the phantom city burns; 
And down the red-hot valley, lo! 
The phantom armies marching go! 

Blinking embers, tell me true 
Where are those armies marching to. 
And what the burning city is 
That crumbles in your furnaces! 



\9 



IX 

THE LITTLE LAND 

WHEN at home alone I sit 
And am very tired of it, 
I have just to shut my eyes 
To go sailing through the skies — 
To go sailing far away 
To the pleasant Land of Play; 
To the fairy land afar 
Where the Little People are; 
Where the clover-tops are trees. 
And the rain-pools are the seas. 
And the leaves like little ships 
Sail about on tiny trips ; 
And above the daisy tree 

Through the grasses, 
High o'erhead the Bumble Bee 

Hums and passes. 

In that forest to and fro 
I can wander, I can go; 
See the spider and the fly, 
And the ants go marching by 
Carrying parcels with their feet 
Down the green and grassy street. 
60 



THE LITTLE LAND 

I can in the sorrel sit 

Where the ladybird alit. 

I can climb the jointed grass; 

And on high 
See the greater swallows pass 

In the sky. 
And the round sun rolling by 
Heeding no such things as I. 



Through that forest I can pass 
Till, as in a looking-glass. 
Humming fly and daisy tree 
And my tiny self I see, 
Painted very clear and neat 
On the rain-pool at my feet. 
Should a leaflet come to land 
Drifting near to where I stand. 
Straight I'll board that tiny boat 
Round the rain-pool sea to float. 



Little thoughtful creatures sit 
On the grassy coasts of it; 
Little things with lovely eyes 
See me sailing with surprise. 
Some are clad in armour green — 
(These have sure to battle been !) — 
Some are pied with ev'ry hue, 
Black and crimson, gold and blue; 
Some have wings and swift are gone;- 
But they all look kindly on. 
6i 



A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 

When my eyes I once again 
Open, and see all things plain: 
High bare walls, great bare floor; 
Great big knobs on drawer and door; 
Great big people perched on chairs. 
Stitching tucks and mending tears, 
Each a hill that I could climb, 
And talking nonsense all the time — 

O dear me, 

That I could be 
A sailor on the rain-poo! sea, 
A climber in the clover tree, 
And just come back, a sleepy-head, 
Late at night to go to bed. 



oa 



GARDEN DAYS 



NIGHT AND DAY 

WHEN the golden day is done, 
Through the closing portal, 
Child and garden, flower and sun. 
Vanish all things mortal. 

As the blinding shadows fall 

As the rays diminish, 
Under evening's cloak, they all 

Roll away and vanish. 

Garden darkened, daisy shut, 
Child in bed, they slumber — 

Glow-worm in the highway rut. 
Mice among the lumber. 

In the darkness houses shine, 
Parents move with candles; 

Till on all, the night divine 
Turns the bedroom handles. 

Till at last the day begins 

In the east a-breaking, 
In the hedges and the whins 

Sleeping birds a-waking. 

65 



A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 

In the darkness shapes of things, 
Houses, trees and hedges, 

Clearer grow ; and sparrow's wings 
Beat on window ledges. 

These shall wake the yawning maid; 

She the door shall open — 
Finding dew on garden glade 

And the morning broken. 

There my garden grows again 

Green and rosy painted. 
As at eve behind the pane 

From my eyes it fainted. 

Just as it was shut away. 

Toy-like, in the even. 
Here I see it glow with day 

Under glowing heaven. 

Every path and every plot, 

Every bush of roses. 
Every blue forget-me-not 

Where the dew reposes, 

" Up ! " they cry, " the day is come 

On the smiling valleys: 
We have beat the morning drum; 

Playmate, join your allies 1 " 



^ 



ii 

NEST EGGS 

BIRDS all the sunny day 
Flutter and quarrel 
Here in the arbour-like 
Tent of the laurel. 

Here in the fork 

The brown nest is seated; 
Four little blue eggs 

The mother keeps heated. 

While we stand watching her, 

Staring like gabies, 
Safe in each egg are the 

Bird's little babies. 

Soon the frail eggs they shall 
Chip, and upspringing, 

Make all the April woods 
Merry with singing. 

Younger than we are, 
O children, and frailer, 

Soon in blue air they'll be, 
Singer and sailor. 
67 



A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 

We, SO much older, 
Taller and stronger. 

We shall look down on the 
Birdies no longer. 

They shall go flying 
With musical speeches 

High overhead in the 
Tops of the beeches. 

In spite of our wisdom 
And sensible talking, 

We on our feet must go 
Plodding and walking. 



68 



Ill 

THE FLOWERS 

ALL the names I know from nurse: 
iV Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse, 
Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock, 
And the Lady Hollyhock. 

Fairy places, fairy things. 

Fairy woods where the wild Dee wings. 

Tiny trees for tiny dames — 

These must all be fairy names! 

Tiny woods below whose boughs 
Shady fairies weave a house: 
Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme, 
Where the braver fairies climb! 

Fair are grown-up people's trees. 
But the fairest woods are these; 
Where if I were not so tall, 
I should live for good and all. 



69 



IV 

SUMMER SUN 

GREAT is the sun. and wide he goes 
Through empty heaven without repose; 
And in the blue and glowing days 
More thick than rain he showers his rays. 

Though closer still the blinds we pull 
To keep the shady parlour cool, 
Yet he will find a chink or two 
To slip his golden fingers through. 

The dusty attic spider-clad 
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad; 
And through the broken edge of tiles, 
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles. 

Meantime his golden face around 
He bares to all the garden ground. 
And sheds a warm and glittering look 
Among the ivy's inmost nook. 

Above the hills, along the blue, 
Round the bright air with footing true, 
To please the child, to paint the rose, 
The gardener of the World, he goes. 



70 



THE DUMB SOLDIER 

WHEN the grass was closely mown. 
Walking on the lawn alone, 
In the turf a hole I found 
And hid a soldier underground. 

Spring and daisies came apace; 
Grasses hide my hiding place; 
Grasses run like a green sea 
O'er the lawn up to my knee. 

Under grass alone he lies, 
Looking up with leaden eyes. 
Scarlet coat and pointed gun. 
To the stars and to the sun. 

When the grass is ripe like grain, 
When the scythe is stoned again, 
When the lawn is shaven clear, 
Then my hole shall reappear. 

I shall find him, never fear, 
I shall find my grenadier; 
But for all that's gone and come, 
I shall find my soldier dumb. 
7» 



A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 

He has lived, a little thing, 
In the grassy woods of spring; 
Done, if he could tell me true, 
Just as I should like to do. 

He has seen the starry hours 
And the springing of the flowers; 
And the fairy things that pass 
In the forests of the grass. 

In the silence he has heard 
Talking bee and ladybird. 
And the butterfly has flown 
O'er him as he lay alone. 

Not a word will he disclose. 
Not a word of all he knows. 
I must lay him on the shelf. 
And make up the taie ni vseli^ 



VI 

AUTUMN FIRES 

IN the other gardens 
And all up the vale, 
From the autumn bonfires 
See the smoke trail! 

Pleasant summer over 

And all the summer flowers, 
The red fire blazes, 

The grey smoke towers. 

Smg a song of seasons! 

Something bright in all! 
Flowers in the summer. 

Fires in the fall ! 



» 



VII 

THE GARDENER 

THE gardener does not love to talk, 
He makes me keep the gravel walk; 
And when he puts his tools away, 
He locks the door and takes the key. 

Away behind the currant row 
Where no one else but cook may go. 
Far in the plots, 1 see him dig, 
Old and serious, brown and big. 

He digs the flowers, green, red, and blue, 
Nor wishes to be spoken to. 
He digs the flowers and cuts the hay, 
And never seems to want to play. 

Silly gardener! summer goes, 
And winter comes with pinching toes, 
When in the garden bare and brown 
You must lay your barrow down. 

Well now, and while the summer stays. 
To profit by these garden days, 
O how much wiser you would be 
To play at Indian wars with me! 



74 



VIII 

HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS 

DEAR Uncle Jim, this garden ground 
That now you smoke your pipe around, 
Has seen immortal actions done 
And valiant battles lost and won. 

Here we had best on tip-toe tread, 
While I for safety march ahead, 
For this is that enchanted ground 
Where all who loiter slumber sound. 

Here is the sea, here is the sand. 
Here is simple Shepherd's Land, 
Here are the fairy hollyhocks, 
And there are Ali Baba's rocks. 

But yonder, see! apart and high, 
Frozen Siberia lies; where I, 
With Robert Bruce and William Tell, 
Was bound by an enchanter's spell. 



75 



ENVOYS 



TO WILLIE AND HENRIETTA 

F two may read aright 
These rhymes of old delight 
And house and garden play, 
You two, my cousins, and you only, may. 



I 



You in a garden green 
With me were king and queen, 
Were hunter, soldier, tar, 
And all the thousand things that children are. 

Now in the elders' seat 
We rest with quiet feet. 
And from the window-bay 
We watch the children, our successors, play. 

"Time was," the golden head 
Irrevocably said ; 
But time which none can bind. 
While flowing fast away, leaves love behind 



7Q 



II 

TO MY MOTHER 

YOU too, my mother, read my rhymes 
For love of unforgotten times. 
And you may chance to hear once more 
The little feet along the floor. 



80 



Ill 

TO AUNTIE 

CHIEF of our aunts — not only I, 
But all your dozen of nurselings cry- 
IVhat did the other children do ? 
And what were childhood, wanting you ? 



8i 



IV 

TO MINNIE 

THE red room with the giant bed 
Where none but elders laid their head. 
The little room where you and 1 
Did for awhile together lie 
And, simple suitor, ! your hand 
In decent marriage did demand; 
The great day nursery, best of all, 
With pictures pasted on the wall 
And leaves upon the blind — 
A pleasant room wherein to wake 
And hear the leafy garden shake 
And rustle in the wind — 
And pleasant there to lie in bed 
And see the pictures overhead — 
The wars about Sebastopol, 
The grinning guns along the wall, 
The daring escalade. 
The plunging ships, the bleating sheep, 
The happy children ankle-deep 
And laughing as they wade: 
All these are vanished clean away, 
And the old manse is changed to-day; 
It wears an altered face 
And shields a stranger race. 

82 



TO MINNIE 

The river, on from mill to mill, 
Flows past our childhood's garden still; 
But ah! we children never more 
Shall watch it from the water-door! 
Below the yew — it still is there — 
Our phantom voices haunt the air 
As we were still at play, 
And I can hear them call and say: 
" How far is it to Babylon ? ' ' 

Ah, far enough, my dear, 
Far, far enough from here — 
Yet you have farther gone! 
"■ Can I get there by candlelight? " 
So goes the old refrain. 
I do not know — perchance you might — 
But only, children, hear it right, 
Ah, never to return again! 
The eternal dawn, beyond a doubt, 
Shall break on hill and plain, 
And put all stars and candles out 
Ere we be young again. 

To you in distant India, these 
I send across the seas. 
Nor count it far across. 
For which of us forgets 
The Indian cabinets. 

The bones of antelope, the wings of albatross, 
The pied and painted birds and beans. 
The junks and bangles, beads and screens, 
83 



A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 

The gods and sacred bells, 

And the loud-humming, twisted shells! 

The level of the parlour floor 

Was honest, homely, Scottish shore; 

But when we climbed upon a chair. 

Behold the gorgeous East was there! 

Be this a fable; and behold 

Me in the parlour as of old. 

And Minnie just above me set 

In the quaint Indian cabinet! 

Smiling and kind, you grace a shelf 

Too high for me to reach myself. 

Reach down a hand, my dear, and take 

These rhymes for old acquaintance' sake! 



% 



TO MY NAME-CHILD 



SOME day soon this rhyming volume, if you learn 
with proper speed, 
Little Louis Sanchez, will be given you to read. 
Then shall you discover, that your name was printed 

down 
By the English printers, long before, in London town. 

In the great and busy city where the East and West are 

met. 
All the little letters did the English printer set; 
While you thought of nothing, and were still too young 

to play. 
Foreign people thought of you in places far away. 

Ay, and while you slept, a baby, over all the English 

lands 
Other little children took the volume in their hands; 
Other children questioned, in their homes across the seas : 
Who was little Louis, won't you tell us, mother, please ? 

85 



A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES 

Now that you have spelt your lesson, lay it down and 

go and play, 
Seeking shells and seaweed on the sands of Monterey, 
Watching all the mighty whalebones, lying buried by 

the breeze, 
Tiny sandy-pipers, and the huge Pacific seas. 

And remember in your playing, as the sea-fog rolls to you, 
Long ere you could read it, how I told you what to do; 
And that while you thought of no one, nearly half the 

world away 
Some one thought of Louis on the beach of Monterey ! 



% 



VI 

TO ANY READER 

AS from the house your mother sees 
You playing round the garden trees, 
So you may see, if you will look 
Through the windows of this book, 
Another child, far, far away. 
And in another garden, play. 
But do not think you can at all, 
By knocking on the window, call 
That child to hear you. He intent 
Is all on his play-business bent. 
He does not hear; he will not look, 
Nor yet be lured out of this book. 
For, long ago, the truth to say. 
He has grown up and gone away, 
And it is but a child of air 
That lingers in the garden there. 



UNDERWOODS 



Of all my verse, like not a single line; 

But like my title, for it is not mine. 

That title from a better man I stole : 

yth, bow much better, had I stol'n the whole! 



DEDICATION 

There are men and classes of men that stand above the common herd: 
the soldier, the sailor, and the shepherd not unfrequently ; the artist 
rarely; rarelier still, the clergyman; the physician almost as a rule. 
He is the flower (such as it is) of our civilisation; and when that 
stage of man is done with, and only remembered to be marvelled at 
in history, he will be thought to have shared as little as any in the 
defects of the period, and most notably exhibited the virtues of the 
race. Generosity he has, such as is possible to those who practise 
an art, never to those who drive a trade; discretion, tested by a 
hundred secrets; tact, tried in a thousand embarrassments; and what 
are more important, Heraclean cheerfulness and courage. So it is 
that he brings air and cheer into the sick-room, and often enough, 
though not so often as he wishes, brings healing. 

Gratitude is but a lame sentiment; thanks, when they are ex- 
pressed, are often more embarrassing than welcome; and yet I must 
set forth mine to a few out of many doctors who have brought me 
comfort and help: to Dr. Willey of San Francisco, whose kindness to 
a stranger it must be as grateful to him, as it is touching to me, to 
remember; to Dr. Karl Ruedi of Davos, the good genius of the Eng- 
lish in his frosty mountains; to Dr. Herbert of Paris, whom 1 knew 
only for a week, and to Dr. Caissot of Montpellier, whom I knew 
only for ten days, and who have yet written their names deeply in 
my memory; to Dr. Brandt of Royat; to Dr. Wakefield of Nice; to 
Dr. Chepnell, whose visits make it a pleasure to be ill; to Dr. Horace 
Dobell, so wise in counsel; to Sir Andrew Clark, so unwearied in 
kindness; and to that wise youth, my uncle. Dr. Balfour. 

I forget as many as I remember; and I ask both to pardon me, 
these for silence, those for inadequate speech. But one name I have 
kept on purpose to the last, because it is a household word with me, 
and because if I had not received favours from so many hands and 

91 



DEDICATION 

in so many quarters of the world, it should have stood upon this page 
alone: that of my friend Thomas Bodley Scott of Bournemouth, 
Will he accept this, although shared among so many, for a dedica- 
tion to himself? and when next my ill-fortune (which has thus its 
pleasant side) brings him hurrying to me when he would fain sit 
down to meat or lie down to rest, will he care to remember that he 
takes this trouble for one who is not fool enough to be ungrateful ? 

R. L. S. 

Skerryvore, 

Bournemouth. 



93 



NOTE 

The human conscience has fled of late the troublesome domain of con- 
duct for what I should have supposed to be the less congenial field 
of art: there she may now be said to rage, and with special severity 
in all that touches dialect; so that in every novel the letters of the 
alphabet are tortured, and the reader wearied, to commemorate 
shades of mispronunciation. Now spelling is an art of great diffi- 
culty in my eyes, and I am inclined to lean upon the printer, even in 
common practice, rather than to venture abroad upon new quests. 
And the Scots tongue has an orthography of its own, lacking neither 
" authority nor author." Yet the temptation is great to lend a little 
guidance to the bewildered Englishman. Some simple phonetic ar- 
tifice might defend your verses from barbarous mishandling, and yet 
not injure any vested interest. So it seems at first; but there are 
rocks ahead. Thus, if I wish the diphthong ou to have its proper 
value, I may write oor instead of our ; many have done so and lived, 
and the pillars of the universe remained unshaken. But if I did so, 
and came presently to doun, which is the classical Scots spelling of 
the English down, I should begin to feel uneasy; and if I went on 
a little farther, and came to a classical Scots word, like stour or dour 
or clour, I should know precisely where I was — that is to say, that 
I was out of sight of land on those high seas of spelling reform in 
which so many strong swimmers have toiled vainly. To some the 
situation is exhilarating; as for me, 1 give one bubbling cry and sink. 
The compromise at which 1 have arrived is indefensible, and I have 
no thought of trying to defend it. As I have stuck for the most part 
to the proper spelling, I append a table of some common vowel 
sounds which no one need consult; and just to prove that I belong 
to my age and have in me the stuff of a reformer, I have used modi- 
fication marks throughout Thus I can tell myself, not without 

93 



NOTE 

pride, that I have added a fresh stumbling-block for English readers, 
and to a page of print in my native tongue, have lent a new un- 
couthness. Sed non nobis. 

I note again, that among our nevf dialecticians, the local habitat 
of every dialect is given to the square mile. I could not emulate 
this nicety if I desired; for I simply wrote my Scots as well as I was 
able, not caring if it hailed from Lauderdale or Angus, from the 
Mearns or Galloway; if I had ever heard a good word, I used it 
without shame; and when Scots was lacking, or the rhyme jibbed, 
I was glad (like my betters) to fall back on English. For all that, 1 
own to a friendly feeling for the tongue of Fergusson and of Sir Walter, 
both Edinburgh men; and 1 confess that Burns has always sounded 
in my ear like something partly foreign. And indeed I am from the 
Lothians myself; it is there 1 heard the language spoken about my 
childhood; and it is in the drawling Lothian voice that I repeat it to 
myself. Let the precisians call my speech that of the Lothians. And 
if it be not pure, alas! what matters it? The day draws near when 
this illustrious and malleable tongue shall be quite forgotten; and 
Burns's Ayrshire, and Dr. Macdonald's Aberdeen-awa', and Scott's 
brave, metropolitan utterance will be all equally the ghosts of speech. 
Till then 1 would love to have my hour as a native Maker, and be 
read by my own countryfolk in our own dying language : an ambi- 
tion surely rather of the heart than of the head, so restricted as it is 
in prospect of endurance, so parochial in bounds of space. 



Q4 



BOOK 1 

IN ENGLISH 



ENVOY 

GO, little book, and wish to all 
Flowers in the garden, meat in the hall, 
A bin of wine, a spice of wit, 
A house with lawns enclosing it, 
A living river by the door, 
A nightingale in the sycamore! 



9> 



II 

A SONG OF THE ROAD 

T'HE gauger walked with willing foot, 
And aye the gauger played the flute; 
And what should Master Gauger play 
But Over the hills and far away? 

Whene'er I buckle on my pack 
And foot it gaily in the track, 

pleasant gauger, long since dead, 

1 hear you fluting on ahead. \ 

You go with me the self-same way — 
The self-same air for me you play; 
For I do think and so do you 
It is the tune to travel to. 

For who would gravely set his face 
To go to this or t'other place ? 
There's nothing under heav'n so blue 
That's fairly worth the travelling to. 

On every hand the roads begin, 
And people walk with zeal therein; 
But wheresoe'er the highways tend. 
Be sure there's nothing at the end. 

08 



A SONG OF THE ROAD 

Then follow you, wherever hie 
The travelling mountains of the sky. 
Or let the streams in civil mode 
Direct your choice upon a road; 

For one and all, or high or low, 
Will lead you where you wish to go; 
And one and all go night and day 
Over the hills and far away ! 



Forest of Montargis, 1878. 



99 



Ill 

THE CANOE SPEAKS 

ON the great streams the ships may go 
About men's business to and fro. 
But I, the egg-shell pinnace, sleep 
On crystal waters ankle-deep: 
I, whose diminutive design, 
Of sweeter cedar, pithier pine, 
Is fashioned on so frail a mould, 
A hand may launch, a hand withhold: 
I, rather, with the leaping trout 
Wind, among lilies, in and out; 
I, the unnamed, inviolate, 
Green, rustic rivers, navigate; 
My dipping paddle scarcely shakes 
The berry in the bramble-brakes ; 
Still forth on my green way I wend 
Beside the cottage garden-end; 
And by the nested angler fare, 
And take the lovers unaware. 
By willow wood and water-wheel 
Speedily fleets my touching keel; 
By all retired and shady spots 
Where prosper dim forget-me-nots; 
By meadows where at afternoon 
The growing maidens troop in June 

lOO 



THE CANOE SPEAKS 

To loose their girdles on the grass. 
Ah! speedier than before the glass 
The backward toilet goes; and swift 
As swallows quiver, robe and shift 
And the rough country stockings lie 
Around each young divinity. 
When, following the recondite brook, 
Sudden upon this scene I look, 
And light with unfamiliar face 
On chaste Diana's bathing-place, 
Loud ring the hills about and all 
The shallows are abandoned. . . . 



kOI 



IV 

IT is the season now to go 
About the country high and low, 
Among the lilacs hand in hand, 
And two by two in fairy land. 

The brooding boy, the sighing maid. 
Wholly fain and half afraid, 
Now meet along the hazel'd brook 
To pass and linger, pause and look. 

A year ago, and blithely paired, 
Their rough-and-tumble play they shared; 
They kissed and quarrelled, laughed and cried, 
A year ago at Eastertide. 

With bursting heart, with fiery face, 

She strove against him in the race; 

He unabashed her garter saw, 

That now would touch her skirts with awe. 

Now by the stile ablaze she stops, 
And his demurer eyes he drops; 
Now they exchange averted sighs 
Or stand and marry silent eyes. 

'Q3 



IT IS THE SEASON NOW 

And he to her a hero is 
And sweeter she than primroses; 
Their common silence dearer far 
Than nightingale or mavis are. 

Now when they sever wedded hands, 
Joy trembles in their bosom-strands, 
And lovely laughter leaps and falls 
Upon their lips in madrigals. 



\<» 



I 



THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL 

yj NAKED home, a naked moor, 
^J. A shivering pool before the door, 
A garden hare of flowers and fruit 
And poplars at the garden foot: 
Such is the place that I live in. 
Bleak without and bare within. 

Yet shall your ragged moor receive 
The incomparable pomp of eve, 
And the cold glories of the dawn 
Behind your shivering trees be drawn; 
And when the wind from place to place 
Doth the unmoored cloud-galleons chase. 
Your garden gloom and gleam again, 
With leaping sun, with glancing rain. 
Here shall the wizard moon ascend 
The heavens, in the crimson end 
Of day's declining splendour; here 
The army of the stars appear. 
The neighbour hollows dry or wet, 
Spring shall with tender flowers beset; 
And oft the morning muser see 
Larks rising from the broomy lea, 
104 



THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL 

And every fairy wheel and thread 

Of cobweb dew-bediamonded. 

When daisies go, shall winter time 

Silver the simple grass with rime; 

Autumnal frosts enchant the pool 

And make the cart-ruts beautiful; 

And when snow-bright the moor expands, 

How shall your children clap their hands 1 

To make this earth, our hermitage, 

A cheerful and a changeful page, 

God's bright and intricate device 

Of days and seasons doth suffice. 



!0« 



VI 

A VISIT FROM THE SEA 

FAR from the loud sea beaches 
Where he goes fishing and crying, 
Here in the inland garden 
Why is the sea-gull flying ? 

Here are no fish to dive for; 

Here is the corn and lea; 
Here are the green trees rustling. 

Hie away home to sea! 

Fresh is the river water 

And quiet among the rushes; 
This is no home for the sea-gull 

But for the rooks and thrushes. 

Pity the bird that has wandered J 

Pity the sailor ashore! 
Hurry him home to the ocean, 

Let him come here no more! 

High on the sea-cliff ledges 

The white gulls are trooping and crying. 
Here among rooks and roses, 

Why is the sea-gull flying ? 



I06 



VII 

TO A GARDENER 

FRIEND, in my mountain-side demesne, 
My plain-beholding, rosy, green 
And linnet-haunted garden-ground, 
Let still the esculents abound. 
Let first the onion flourish there, 
Rose among roots, the maiden-fair, 
N- Wine-scented and poetic soul 

Of the capacious salad bowl. 
Let thyme the mountaineer (to dress 
The tinier birds) and wading cress, 
The lover of the shallow brook, 
From all my plots and borders look. 
Nor crisp and ruddy radish, nor 
Pease-cods for the child's pinafore 
Be lacking; nor of salad clan 
The last and least that ever ran 
About great nature's garden-beds. 
Nor thence be missed the speary heads 
Of artichoke; nor thence the bean 
That gathered innocent and green 
Outsavours the belauded pea. 

These tend, I prithee; and for me, 
Thy most long-suffering master, bring 
In April, when the linnets sing 
107 



UNDERWOODS 

And the days lengthen more and morC; 
At sundown to the garden door. 
And I, being provided thus, 
Shall, with superb asparagus, 
A book, a taper, and a cup 
Of country wine, divinely sup. 



La Solitude, Hyeres, 



io6 



VIII 

TO MINNfE 
{With a hand-gtass) 

A PICTURE-FRAME for you to fill, 
A paltry setting for your face, 
A thing that has no worth until 
You lend it something of your grace, 

I send (unhappy 1 that sing 
Laid by awhile upon the shelf) 

Because 1 would not send a thing 
Less charming than you are yourself. 

And happier than I, alas! 

(Dumb thing, 1 envy its delight) 
T will wish you well, the looking-glass, 

And look you in the face to-night. 



lOQ 



IX 

TO K. DE M. 

A LOVER of the moorland bare, 
And honest country winds, you were; 
The silver-skimming rain you took; 
And loved the floodings of the brook, 
Dew, frost and mountains, fire and seas, 
Tumultuary silences, 
Winds that in darkness fifed a tune, 
And the high-riding virgin moon. 

And as the berry, pale and sharp, 
Springs on some ditch's counterscarp 
In our ungenial, native north — 
You put your frosted wildings forth, 
And on the heath, afar from man, 
A strong and bitter virgin ran. 

The berry ripened keeps the rude 
And racy flavour of the wood. 
And you that loved the empty plain 
All redolent of wind and rain, 
Around you still the curlew sings — 
The freshness of the weather clings — 
The maiden jewels of the rain 
Sit in your dabbled locks again. 



no 



TO N. V. DE G. S. 

THE unfathomable sea, and time, and tears, 
The deeds of heroes and the crimes of kings 
Dispart us; and the river of events 
Has, for an age of years, to east and west 
More widely borne our cradles. Thou to me 
Art foreign, as when seamen at the dawn 
Descry a land far off and know not which. 
So I approach uncertain ; so I cruise 
Round thy mysterious islet, and behold 
Surf and great mountains and loud river-bars, 
And from the shore hear inland voices call. 
Strange is the seaman's heart; he hopes, he fears; 
Draws closer and sweeps wider from that coast; 
Last, his rent sail refits, and to the deep 
His shattered prow uncomforted puts back. 
Yet as he goes he ponders at the helm 
Of that bright island; where he feared to touch, 
His spirit readventures; and for years. 
Where by his wife he slumbers safe at home. 
Thoughts of that land revisit him; he sees 
The eternal mountains beckon, and awakes 
Yearning for that far home that might have been. 



III 



XI 

TO WILL. H. LOW 

YOUTH now flees on feathered foot 
Faint and fainter sounds the flute. 
Rarer songs of gods; and still 
Somewhere on the sunny hill, 
Or along the winding stream, 
Through the willows, flits a dream; 
Flits, but shows a smiling face, 
Flees, but with so quaint a grace. 
None can choose to stay at home. 
All must follow, all must roam. 

This is unborn beauty: she 
Now in air floats high and free, 
Takes the sun and breaks the blue;^ 
Late with stooping pinion flew 
Raking hedgerow trees, and wet 
Her wing in silver streams, and set 
Shining foot on temple roof : 
Now again she flies aloof, 
Coasting mountain clouds and kiss't 
By the evening's amethyst. 

In wet wood and miry lane. 
Still we pant and pound in vain; 

112 



TO WILL H. LOW 

Still with leaden foot we chase 
Waning pinion, fainting face; 
Still with grey hair we stumble on, 
Till, behold, the vision gone! 
Where hath fleeting beauty led ? 
To the doorway of the dead. 
Life is over, life was gay : 
We have come the primrose way. 



if^ 



XII 

TO MRS. WILL. H. LOW 

EVEN in the bluest noonday of July, 
There could not run the smallest breath of wind 
But all the quarter sounded like a wood; 
And in the chequered silence and above 
The hum of city cabs that sought the Bois, 
Suburban ashes shivered into song. 
A patter and a chatter and a chirp 
And a long dying hiss — it was as though 
Starched old brocaded dames through all the house 
Had trailed a strident skirt, or the whole sky 
Even in a wink had over-brimmed in rain. 
Hark, in these shady parlours, how it talks 
Of the near autumn, how the smitten ash 
Trembles and augurs floods! O not too long 
In these inconstant latitudes delay, 
O not too late from the unbeloved north 
Trim your escape! For soon shall this low roof 
Resound indeed with rain, soon shall your eyes 
Search the foul garden, search the darkened rooms, 
Nor find one jewel but the blazing log. 

12 Rue Vernier, Paris. 



114 



XIII 

TO H. F. BROWN 
{IVritten during a dangerous sickness) 

I SIT and wait a pair of oars 
On cis-Elysian river-shores. 
Where the immortal dead have sate, 
'T is mine to sit and meditate; 
To re-ascend life's rivulet, 
Without remorse, without regret; 
And sing my Alma Genetrix 
Among the willows of the Styx. 

And lo, as my serener soul 
Did these unhappy shores patrol, 
And wait with an attentive ear 
The coming of the gondolier, 
Your fire-surviving roll I took, 
Your spirited and happy book;^ 
Whereon, despite my frowning fate, 
It did my soul so recreate 
That all my fancies fled away 
On a Venetian holiday. 

1 Life on the Lagoons, by H. F. Brown, originally burned in the fire 
at Messrs. Kegan Paul, Trench & Co.'s. 

11$ 



UNDERWOODS 

Now, thanks to your triumphant care, 

Your pages clear as April air, 

The sails, the bells, the birds, I know, 

And the far-off Friulan snow; 

The land and sea, the sun and shade, 

And the blue even lamp-inlaid. 

For this, for these, for all, O friend. 

For your whole book from end to end- 

For Paron Piero's muttonham — 

I your defaulting debtor am. 

Perchance, reviving, yet may I 
To your sea-paven city hie, 
And in Sifelie, some day yet 
Light at your pipe my cigarette. 



£SA 



XIV 

TO ANDREW LANG 

DHAR Andrew, with the brindled hair, 
Who glory to have thrown in air, 
High over arm, the trembling reed, 
By Ale and Kail, by Till and Tweed: 
An equal craft of hand you show 
The pen to guide, the fly to throw : 
I count you happy starred ; for God, 
When He with inkpot and with rod 
Endowed you, bade your fortune lead 
Forever by the crooks of Tweed, 
Forever by the woods of song 
And lands that to the Muse belong; 
Or if in peopled streets, or in 
The abhorred pedantic sanhedrim. 
It should be yours to wander, still 
Airs of the morn, airs of the hill. 
The plovery Forest and the seas 
That break about the Hebrides, 
Should follow over field and plain 
And find you at the window pane; 
And you again see hill and peel. 
And the bright springs gush at your heel. 
So went the fiat forth, and so 
Garrulous like a brook you go, 

I '7 



UNDERWOODS 

With sound of happy mirth and sheen 
Of daylight — whether by the green 
You fare that moment, or the grey; 
Whether you dwell in March or May; 
Or whether treat of reels and rods 
Or of the old unhappy gods: 
Still like a brook your page has shone, 
And your mR sings of Helicon. 



t.-d 



XV 

ET TU IN ARCADIA VIXISTI 
* (To R. A. M. S.) 

IN ancient tales, O friend, thy spirit dwelt; 
There, from of old, thy childhood passed ; and there 
High expectation, high delights and deeds, 
Thy fluttering heart with hope and terror moved. 
And thou hast heard of yore the Blatant Beast, 
And Roland's horn, and that war-scattering shout 
Of all-unarmed Achilles, segis-crowned. 
And perilous lands thou sawest, sounding shores 
And seas and forests drear, island and dale 
And mountain dark. For thou with Tristram rod'st 
Or Bedevere, in farthest Lyonesse. 
Thou hadst a booth in Samarcand, whereat 
Side-looking Magians trafficked; thence, by night, 
An Afreet snatched thee, and with wings upbore 
Beyond the Aral mount; or, hoping gain, 
Thou, with a jar of money, didst embark, 
For Balsorah, by sea. But chiefly thou 
In that clear air took'st life; in Arcady 
The haunted, land of song; and by the wells 
Where most the gods frequent. There Chiron old. 
In the Pelethronian antre, taught thee lore 

119 



UNDERWOODS 

The plants, he taught, and by the shining stars 
In forests dim to steer. There hast thou seen 
Immortal Pan dance secret in a glade, 
And, dancing, roll his eyes; these, where they fell. 
Shed glee, and through the congregated oaks 
A flying horror winged; while all the earth 
To the god's pregnant footing thrilled within. 
Or whiles, beside the sobbing stream, he breathed. 
In his clutched pipe, unformed and wizard strains, 
Divine yet brutal ; which the forest heard, 
And thou, with awe; and far upon the plain 
The unthinking ploughman started and gave ear. 

Now things there are that, upon him who sees, 
A strong vocation lay; and strains there are 
That whoso hears shall hear for evermore. 
For evermore thou hear'st immortal Pan 
And those melodious godheads, ever young 
And ever quiring, on the mountains old. 

What was this earth, child of the gods, to thee ? 

Forth from thy dreamland thou, a dreamer, cam'st, 

And in thine ears the olden music rang. 

And in thy mind the doings of the dead, 

And those heroic ages long forgot. 

To a so fallen earth, alas ! too late, 

Alas! in evil days, thy steps return, 

To list at noon for nightingales, to grow 

A dweller on the beach till Argo come 

That came long since, a lingerer by the pool 

Where that desired angel bathes no more. 

1 20 



ET TU IN ARCADIA VIXISTI 

As when the Indian to Dakota comes, 

Or farthest Idaho, and where he dwelt. 

He with his clan, a humming city finds; 

Thereon awhile, amazed, he stares, and then 

To right and leftward, like a questing dog, 

Seeks first the ancestral altars, then the hearth 

Long cold with rains, and where old terror lodged, 

And where the dead. So thee undying Hope, 

With all her pack, hunts screaming through the years: 

Here, there, thou fleeest; but nor here nor there 

The pleasant gods abide, the glory dwells. 

That, that was not Apollo, not the god. 

This was not Venus, though she Venus seemed 

A moment. And though fair yon river move, 

She, all the way, from disenchanted fount 

To seas unhallowed runs; the gods forsook 

Long since her trembling rushes; from her plains 

Disconsolate, long since adventure fled; 

And now although the inviting river flows. 

And every poplared cape, and every bend 

Or willowy islet, win upon thy soul 

And to thy hopeful shallop whisper speed; 

Yet hope not thou at all; hope is no more; 

And O, long since the golden groves are dead, 

The faery cities vanished from the land! 



121 



XVI 

TO W. E. HENLEY 

THE year runs through her phases; rain and sun, 
Springtime and summer pass; winter succeeds; 
But one pale season rules the house of death. 
Cold falls the imprisoned daylight; fell disease 
By each lean pallet squats, and pain and sleep 
Toss gaping on the pillows. 

But O thou! 
Uprise and take thy pipe. Bid music flow, 
Strains by good thoughts attended, like the spring 
The swallows follow over land and sea. 
Pain sleeps at once; at once, with open eyes, 
Dozing despair awakes. The shepherd sees 
His flock come bleating home; the seaman hears 
Once more the cordage rattle. Airs of home! 
Youth, love and roses blossom ; the gaunt ward 
Dislimns and disappears, and, opening out, 
Shows brooks and forests, and the blue beyond 
Of mountains. 

Small the pipe; but O! do thou, 
Peak-faced and suffering piper, blow therein 
The dirge of heroes dead; and to these sick, 

122 



TO W. E. HENLEY 

These dying, sound the triumph over death. 
Behold ! each greatly breathes ; each tastes a joy 
Unknown before, in dying; for each knows 
A hero dies with him — though unfulfilled. 
Yet conquering truly — and not dies in vain. 

So is pain cheered, death comforted ; the house 
Of sorrow smiles to listen. Once again — 
O thou, Orpheus and Heracles, the bard 
And the deliverer, touch the stops again! 



«aj 



XVII 

HENRY JAMES 

WHO comes to-night ? We ope the doors in vain. 
Who comes ? My bursting walls, can you contain 
The presences that now together throng 
Your narrow entry, as with flowers and song, 
As with the air of life, the breath of talk ? 
Lo, how these fair immaculate women walk 
Behind their jocund maker; and we see 
Slighted De Mauves, and that far different she, 
Grcsste, the trivial sphynx; and to our feast 
Daisy and Barb and Chancellor (she not least! ) 
With all their silken, all their airy kin, 
Do like unbidden angels enter in. 
But he, attended by these shining names, 
Comes (best of all) himself — our welcome James. 



124 



XVIII 

THE MIRROR SPEAKS 

WHERE the bells peal far at sea 
Cunning fingers fashioned me. 
There on palace walls I hung 
While that Consuelo sung; 
But I heard, though I listened well, 
Never a note, never a trill, 
Never a beat of the chiming bell. 
There I hung and looked, and there 
In my grey face, faces fair 
Shone from under shining hair. 
Well I saw the poising head, 
But the lips moved and nothing said; 
And when lights were in the hall, 
Silent moved the dancers all. 

So awhile I glowed, and then 
Fell on dusty days and men ; 
Long I slumbered packed in straw. 
Long I none but dealers saw; 
Till before my silent eye 
One that sees came passing by. 
125 



UNDERWOODS 

Now with an outlandish grace, 
To the sparkling fire I face 
In the blue room at Skerry vore; 
Where I wait until the door 
Open, and the Prince of Men, 
Henry James, shall come again. 



1 20 



XIX 

KATHARINE 

WE see you as we see a face 
That trembles in a forest place 
Upon the mirror of a pool 
Forever quiet, clear and cool; 
And in the wayward glass, appears 
To hover between smiles and tears, 
Elfin and human, airy and true, 
And backed by the reflected blue. 



137 



XX 

TO F J. S. 

I READ, dear friend, in your dear face 
Your life's tale told with perfect grace; 
The river of your life, I trace 
Up the sun-chequered, devious bed 
To the far-distant fountain-head. 

Not one quick beat of your warm heart. 
Nor thought that came to you apart, 
Pleasure nor pity, love nor pain 
Nor sorrow, has gone by in vain; 

But as some lone, wood-wandering child 
Brings home with him at evening mild 
The thorns and flowers of all the wild. 
From your whole life, O fair and true 
Your flowers and thorns you bring with you! 



128 



^ XXI 

REQUIEM 

UNDER the wide and starry sky, 
Dig the grave and let me lie. 
Glad did 1 live and gladly die, 
And I laid me down with a will. 

This be the verse you grave for me: 
Here be lies ivbere he longed to be, 
Home is the sailor, home from sea. 
And the hunter home from the hill. 



tag 



XXII 

THE CELESTIAL SURGEON 

IF I have faltered more or less 
In my great task of happiness; 
If I have moved among my race 
And shou'n no glorious morning face; 
If beams from happy human eyes 
Have moved me not; if morning skies, 
Books, and my food, and summer rain 
Knocked on my sullen heart in vain: — 
Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take 
And stab my spirit broad awake; 
Or, Lord, if too obdurate I, 
Choose thou, before that spirit die, 
A piercing pain, a killing sin. 
And to my dead heart run them inl 



130 



XXIII 

OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS 

OUT of the sun, out of the blast, 
Out of the world, alone I passed 
Across the moor and through the wood 
To where the monastery stood. 
There neither lute nor breathing fife, 
Nor rumour of the world of life. 
Nor confidences low and dear. 
Shall strike the meditative ear. 
Aloof, unhelpful, and unkind. 
The prisoners of the iron mind. 
Where nothing speaks except the bell 
The unfraternal brothers dwell. 
Poor passionate men, still clothed afresh 
With agonising folds of flesh ; 
Whom the clear eyes solicit still 
To some bold output of the will, 
While fairy Fancy far before 
And musing Memory-Hold-the-door 
Now to heroic death invite 
And now uncurtain fresh delight: 
O, little boots it thus to dwell 
On the remote unneighboured hilFI 
«3i 



UNDERWOODS 

O to be up and doing, O 
Unfearing and unshamed to go 
In all the uproar and the press 
About my human business! 
My undissuaded heart I hear 
Whisper courage in my ear. 
With voiceless calls, the ancient earth 
Summons me to a daily birth. 
Thou, O my love, ye, O my friends — 
The gist of life, the end of ends — 
To laugh, to love, to live, to die, 
Ye call me by the ear and eye! 

Forth from the casemate, on the plain 
Where honour has the world to gain, 
Pour forth and bravely do your part, 
O knights of the unshielded heart! 
Forth and forever forward! — out 
From prudent turret and redoubt. 
And in the mellay charge amain, 
To fall but yet to rise again ! 
Captive ? ah, still, to honour bright, 
A captive soldier of the right! 
Or free and fighting, good with ill ? 
Unconquering but unconquered still! 

And ye, O brethren, what if God, 
When from Heav'n's top he spies abroad, 
And sees on this tormented stage 
The noble war of mankind rage : 
What if his vivifying eye, 
O monks, should pass your corner by ? 
132 



OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS 

For Still the Lord is Lord of might; 
In deeds, in deeds, he takes delight; 
The plough, the spear, the laden barks, 
The field, the founded city, marks; 
He marks the smiler of the streets, 
The singer upon garden seats ; 
He sees the climber in the rocks; 
To him, the shepherd folds his flocks. 
For those he loves that underprop 
With daily virtues Heaven's top. 
And bear the falling sky with ease, 
Unfrowning caryatides. 
Those he approves that ply the trade, 
That rock the child, that wed the maid. 
That with weak virtues, weaker hands. 
Sow gladness on the peopled lands. 
And still with laughter, song and shout. 
Spin the great wheel of earth about. 

But ye? — O ye who linger still 
Here in your fortress on the hill, 
With placid face, with tranquil breath, 
The unsought volunteers of death. 
Our cheerful General on high 
With careless looks may pass you by. 



'33 



XXIV 

NOT yet, my soul, these friendly fields desert, 
Where thou with grass, and rivers, and the breeze 
And the bright face of day, thy dalliance hadst; 
Where to thine ear first sang the enraptured birds; 
Where love and thou that lasting bargain made. 
The ship rides trimmed, and from the eternal shore 
Thou hearest airy voices ; but not yet 
Depart, my soul, not yet awhile depart. 

Freedom is far, rest far. Thou art with life 
Too closely woven, nerve with nerve intwined; 
Service still craving service, love for love. 
Love for dear love, still suppliant with tears. 
Alas, not yet thy human task is done! 
A bond at birth is forged ; a debt doth lie 
Immortal on mortality. It grows — 
By vast rebound it grows, unceasing growth; 
Gift upon gift, alms upon alms, upreared. 
From man, from God, from nature, till the soul 
At that so huge indulgence stands amazed. 

Leave not, my soul, the unfoughten field, nor leave 
Thy debts dishonoured, nor thy place desert 
Without due service rendered. For thy life, 
Up, spirit, and defend that fort of clay, 

'34 



NOT YET, MY SOUL 

Thy body, now beleaguered ; whether soon 
Or late she fall ; whether to-day thy friends 
Bewail thee dead, or, after years, a man 
Grown old in honour and the friend of peace. 
Contend, my soul, for moments and for hours; 
Each is with service pregnant; each reclaimed 
Is as a kingdom conquered, where to reign. 
As when a captain rallies to the fight 
His scattered legions, and beats ruin back, 
He, on the field, encamps, well pleased in mind. 
Yet surely him shall fortune overtake. 
Him smite in turn, headlong his ensigns drive; 
And that dear land, now safe, to-morrow fall. 
But he, unthinking, in the present good 
Solely delights, and all the camps rejoice. 



135 



XXV 

IT is not yours, O mother, to complain, 
Not, mother, yours to weep, 
Though nevermore your son again 
Shall to your bosom creep, 
Though nevermore again you watch your baby 
sleep. 

Though in the greener paths of earth, 

Mother and child, no more 
We wander; and no more the birth 

Of me whom once you bore. 

Seems still the brave reward that once it seemed of 
yore; 

Though as all passes, day and night, 

The seasons and the years, 
From you, O mother, this delight, 

This also disappears — 

Some profit yet survives of all your pangs and tears. 

The child, the seed, the grain of corn. 

The acorn on the hill. 
Each for some separate end is born 
In season fit, and still 

Each must in strength arise to work the almighty 
will. 

• 36 



IT IS NOT YOURS 

So from the hearth the children flee, 

By that almighty hand 
Austerely led ; so one by sea 

Goes forth, and one by land; 

Nor aught of all man's sons escapes from that 
command. 

So from the sally each obeys 

The unseen almighty nod; 
So till the ending all their ways 

Blindfolded loth have trod: 

Nor knew their task at all, but were the tools of God. 

And as the fervent smith of yore 

Beat out the glowing blade. 
Nor wielded in the front of war 

The weapons that he made, 

But in the tower at home still plied his ringing trade; 

So like a sword the son shall roam 

On nobler missions sent; 
And as the smith remained at home 

In peaceful turret pent, 

So sits the while at home the mother well content 



«37 



XXVI 



THE SICK CHILD 



Child. 



O MOTHER, lay your hand on my browl 
O mother, mother, where am I now ? 
Why is the room so gaunt and great ? 
Why am I lying awake so late ? 



Mother. Fear not at all : the night is still. 

Nothing is here that means you ill — 
Nothing but lamps the whole town through. 
And never a child awake but you. 

Child. Mother, mother, speak low in my ear, 

Some of the things are so great and near. 

Some are so small and far away, 

I have a fear that 1 cannot say. 

What have I done, and what do I fear. 

And why are you crying, mother dear? 

Mother. Out in the city, sounds begin ; 

Thank the kind God, the carts come in! 
An hour or two more and God is so kind. 
The day shall be blue in the window-blind, 
Then shall my child go sweetly asleep. 
And dream of the birds and the hills of sheep. 



138 



XXVII 

IN MEMORIAM F. A. S. 

YET, O Stricken heart, remember, O remember 
How of human days he lived the better part. 
April came to bloom and never dim December 
Breathed its killing chills upon the head or heart. 

Doomed to know not Winter, only Spring, a being 
Trod the flowery April blithely for awhile. 

Took his fill of music, joy of thought and seeing. 
Came and stayed and went, nor ever ceased to smile. 

Came and stayed and went, and now when all is finished^ 
You alone have crossed the melancholy stream, 

Yours the pang, but his, O his, the undiminished 
Undecaying gladness, undeparted dream. 

All that life contains of torture, toil, and treason. 
Shame, dishonour, death, to him were but a name. 

Here, a boy, he dwelt through all the singing season 
And ere the day of sorrow departed as he came. 

Davos, i88i. 



1^ 



XXVIII 

TO MY FATHER 

PEACE and her huge invasion to these shores 
Puts daily home; innumerable sails 
Dawn on the far horizon and draw near; 
Innumerable loves, uncounted hopes 
To our wild coasts, not darkling now, approach i 
Not now obscure, since thou and thine are there, 
And bright on the lone isle, the foundered reef, 
The long, resounding foreland, Pharos stands. 

These are thy works, O father, these thy crown; 
Whether on high the air be pure, they shine 
Along the yellowing sunset, and all night 
Among the unnumbered stars of God they shine; 
Or whether fogs arise and far and wide 
The low sea-level drown — each finds a tongue 
And all night long the tolling bell resounds: 
So shine, so toll, till night be overpast, 
Till the stars vanish, till the sun return. 
And in the haven rides the fleet secure. 

In the first hour, the seaman in his skiff 
Moves through the unmoving bay, to where the town 
Its earliest smoke into the air upbreathes 

140 



TO MY FATHER 

And the rough hazels climb along the beach. 
To the tugg'd oar the distant echo speaks. 
The ship lies resting, where by reef and roost 
Thou and thy lights have led her like a child. 

This hast thou done, and I — can I be base? 

I must arise, O father, and to port 

Some lost, complaining seaman pilot home- 



ut 



XXIX 



IN THE STATES 



WITH half a heart I wander here 
As from an age gone by 
A brother — yet though young in years, 
An elder brother, I. 

You speak another tongue than mine, 
Though both were English born. 

I towards the night of time decline 
You mount into the morn. 

Youth shall grow great and strong and free, 

But age must still decay : 
To-morrow for the States — for me, 

England and Yesterday. 



San Francisco. 



ua 



XXX 

A PORTRAIT 

I AM a kind of farthing dip, 
Unfriendly to the nose and eyes; 
A blue-behinded ape, I skip 
Upon the trees of Paradise. 

At mankind's feast, I take my place 
In solemn, sanctimonious state, 

And have the air of saying grace 
While I defile the dinner plate. 

I am "the smiler with the knife," 
The battener upon garbage, I — 

Dear Heaven, with such a rancid life. 
Were it not better far to die ? 

Yet still, about the human pale, 
I love to scamper, love to race, 

To swing by my irreverent tail 
All over the most holy place; 

And when at length, some golden day. 
The unfailing sportsman, aiming at, 

Shall bag, me — all the world shall say: 
Thank God, and there's an end of that! 



•43 



XXXI 

SING clearlier, Muse, or evermore be still, 
Sing truer or no longer sing! 
No more the voice of melancholy Jacques 
To wake a weeping echo in the hill; 
But as the boy, the pirate of the spring, 
From the green elm a living linnet takes, 
One natural verse recapture — then be still. 



144 



I 



XXXII 

A CAMP* 

THE bed was made, the room was fit, 
By punctual eve the stars were lit; 
The air was still, the water ran, 
No need was there for maid or man, 
When we put up, my ass and I, 
At God's green caravanserai. 

1 From Travels with a Donkey. 



145 



XXXIII 

THE COUNTRY OF THE CAMISARDS* 



w 



E travelled in the print of olden wars. 
Yet all the land was green, 
And love we found, and peace, 
Where fire and war had been. 



They pass and smile, the children of the sword 
No more the sword they wield; 
And O, how deep the corn 
Along the battlefield ! , 

1 From Travels with a Dorik^. 



146 



XXXIV 

SKERRYVORE 

FOR love of lovely words, and for the sake 
Of those, my kinsmen and my countrymen, 
Who early and late in the v^'indy ocean toiled 
To plant a star for seamen, where was then 
The surfy haunt of seals and cormorants; 
I, on the lintel of this cot, inscribe 
The name of a strong tower. 



»47 



XXXV 

skerryvore: the parallel 

HERE all is sunny, and when the truant gull 
Skims the green level of the lawn, his wing 
Dispetals roses ; here the house is framed 
Of kneaded brick and the plumed mountain pine, 
Such clay as artists f^ishion and such wood 
As the tree-climbing urchin breaks. But there 
Eternal granite hewn from the living isle 
And dowelled with brute iron, rears a tower 
That from its wet foundation to its crown 
Of glittering glass, stands, in the sweep of winds, 
Immovable, immortal, eminent. 



u8 



XXXVI 

]\/f y house, I say. But hark to the sunny doves 
IVl That make my roof the arena of their loves, 
That gyre about the gable all day long 
And fill the chimneys with their murmurous song: 
Our home, they say; and mine, the cat declares 
And spreads his golden fleece upon the chairs; 
And mine the dog, and rises stiff with wrath 
If any alien foot profane the path. 
So, too, the buck that trimmed my terraces, 
Our whilom gardener, called the garden his; 
Who now, deposed, surveys my plain abode 
And his late kingdom, only from the road. 



149 



XXXVII 

MY body which my dungeon is, 
And yet my parks and palaces:— 

Which is so great that there I go 
All the day long to and fro, 
And when the night begins to fall 
Throw down my bed and sleep, while all 
The building hums with wakefulness — 
Even as a child of savages 
When evening takes her on her way, 
(She having roamed a summer's day 
Along the mountain-sides and scalp) 
Sleeps in an antre of that alp: — 

Which is so broad and high that there, 
As in the topless fields of air. 
My fancy soars like to a kite 
And faints in the blue infinite: — 

Which is so strong, my strongest throes 
And the rough world's besieging blows 
Not break it, and so weak withal. 
Death ebbs and flows in its loose wall 
As the green sea in fishers' nets. 
And tops its topmost parapets : — 

Which is so wholly mine that I 
150 



Can wield its whole artillery, 
And mine so little, that my soul 
Dwells in perpetual control, 
And I but think and speak and do 
As my dead fathers move me to : — 

If this born body of my bones 
The beggared soul so barely owns, 
What money passed from hand to hand, 
What creeping custom of the land, 
What deed of author or assign, 
Can make a house a thing of mine ? 



f5i 



XXXVIII 

SAY not of me that weakly I declined 
The labours of my sires> and fled the sea, 
The towers we founded and the lamps we lit, 
To play at home with paper like a child. 
But rather say : In the afternoon of time 
A strenuous family dusted from its hands 
The sand of granite, and beholding far 
Along the sounding coast its pyramids 
And tall memorials catch the dying sun. 
Smiled well content, and to this childish task 
Around the fire addressed its evening hours. 



:i?3 




BOOK H 
IN SCOTS 



TABLE OF COMMON SCOTTISH VOWEL SOUNDS. 



ae 
ai 

a 



. \ = open A as in rare. 



A- 

w ; 



au > = AW as in law. 



aw . 

ea = open E as in mere, but this with exceptions, as heather = heather, 
wean = wain, lear = laii. 



ee ^ 

'' [ 
le ) 



open E as in mere. 



oa = open O as in more. 

ou = doubled O as in poor, 

ow = OW as in bower. 

u = doubled O as in poor. 

ui or u before R (say roughly) open A as in rare. 

ui or ii before any other consonant = (say roughly) close I as in grin. 

y = open 1 as in kite. 

i = pretty nearly what you please, much as in English. Heaven guide 
the reader through that labyrinth! But in Scots it dodges usually 
from the short I, as in grin, to the open E, as in mere. Find and 
blind, 1 may remark, are pronounced to rhyme with the preterite 
of grin. 



•54 



THE MAKER TO POSTERITY 

FAR 'yont amang the years to be 
When a' we think, an' a' we see, 
An' a' we luve, 's been dung ajee 
By time's rouch shouther, 
An' what was richt and wrang for me 
Lies mangled throu'ther, 

It's possible — it's hardly mair — 
That some ane, ripin' after lear — 
Some auld professor or young heir, 

If still there's either — 
May find an' read me, an' be sair 

Perplexed, puir brither! 

" IVbat tongue does your auld bookie speak ? 

He'll spier; an' 1, his mou to steik: 
" No bein' fit to write in Greek, 
I wrote in Lallan, 
Dear to my heart as the peat reek, 
Auld as Tantallon. 

" Few spak it then, an' noo there's nane. 
My puir auld sangs lie a' their lane, 

>55 



UNDERWOODS 

Their sense, that aince was braw an ' plain. 

Tint a'thegether. 
Like ntnes upon a standin' stane 

Amang the heather. 

" But think not you the brae to speel; 
You, tae, maun chow the bitter peel; 
For a' your tear, for a' your skeel. 

Ye' re nane sae hicky; 
An' things are mebbe waur than weel 
For you, my biickie. 

"The hale concern {baith hens an' eggs, 
Baith books an' writers, stars an' clegs) 
Noo stachers upon lowsent legs. 

An' wears awa' ; 
The tack o' mankind, near the dregs, 

Rins unco law. 

" Your hook, that in some braw new tongue^ 
Ye wrote or prentit, preached or sung. 
Will still be just a bairn, an 'young 

In fame an ' years. 
Whan the hale planet's guts are dung 

About your ears ; 

"An you, sair gruppin' to a spar 
Or whammled wi' some blee:(in' star, 
Cryin' to ken whaur deilye are, 

Hame, France, or Flanders — 
Whang sindry like a railway car 
An' file in danders." 
156 



II 

ILLE TERRARUM 

FRAE nirly, nippin', Eas'lan' breeze, 
Frae Norlan' snaw, an' haar o' seas, 
Weel happit in your gairden trees, 

A bonny bit, 
Atween the muckle Pentland's knees, 
Secure ye sit. 

Beeches an' aiks entwine their theek, 
An' firs, a stench, auld-farrant clique. 
A' simmer day, your chimleys reek, 

Couthy and bien ; 
An' here an' there your windies keek 

Amang the green. 

A pickle plats an' paths an' posies, 
A wheen auld gillyflowers an' roses : 
A ring o' wa's the hale encloses 

Frae sheep or men ; 
An' there the auld housie beeks an' doses, 

A' by her lane. 

The gairdner crooks his weary back 
A' day in the pitaty-track, 
'57 



UNDERWOODS 

Or mebbe stops awhile to crack 

Wi' Jane the cook, 
Or at some buss, worm-eaten-black, 

To gie a look. 

Frae the high hills the curlew ca's; 
The sheep gang baaing by the wa's; 
Or whiles a clan o' roosty craws 

Cangle thegether; 
The wild bees seek the gairden raws, 

Weariet wi' heather. 

Or in the gloamin' douce an' gray 
The sweet-throat mavis tunes her lay; 
The herd comes linkin' doun the brae; 

An' by degrees 
The muckle siller mune maks way 

Amang the trees. 

Here aft hae 1, wi' sober heart, 
For meditation sat apairt, 
When orra loves or kittle art 

Perplexed my mind; 
Here socht a balm for ilka smart 

O' humankind. 

Here aft, weel neukit by my lane, 
Wi' Horace, or perhaps Montaigne, 
The mornin' hours hae come an' gane 

Abiine my held — 
I wadnae gi'en a chucky-stane 

For a' I'd read. 
158 



ILLE TERRARUM 

But noo the auld city, street by street. 
An' winter fu' o' snaw an' sleet, 
Awhile shut in my gangrel feet 

An' goavin' mettle; 
Noo is the soopit ingle sweet, 

An' liltin' kettle. 

An' noo the winter winds complain; 
Cauld lies the glaur in ilka lane; 
On draigled hizzie, tautit wean 

An' drucken lads, 
In the mirk nicht, the winter rain 

Dribbles an' blads. 

Whan bugles frae the Castle rock, 
An' beaten drums wi' dowie shock, 
Wauken, at cauld-rife sax o'clock, 

My chitterin' frame, 
I mind me on the kintry cock, 

The kintry hame. 

I mind me on yon bonny bield; 
An' Fancy traivels far afield 
To gaither a' that gairdens yield 

O' sun an' Simmer: 
To hearten up a dowie chield, 

Fancy's the limmerl 



«59 



Ill 



WHEN aince Aprile has fairly coma. 
An' birds may bigg in winter's lum. 
An pleisure's spreid for a' and some 

O' whatna state, 
Love, wi' her auld recruitin' drum, 
Than taks the gate. 

The heart plays dunt wi' main an' micht; 
The lasses' een are a' sae bricht, 
Their dresses are sae braw an' ticht, 

The bonny birdies! — 
Puir winter virtue at the sicht 

Gangs heels ower hurdles. 

An' aye as love frae land to land 
Tirls the drum wi' eident hand, 
A' men collect at her command, 

Toun-bred or land'art. 
An' follow in a denty band 

Her gaucy standart. 

An' I, wha sang o' rain an' snaw. 
An' weary winter weel awa', 
Noo busk me in a jacket braw^ 

An' tak my place 
r the ram-stam, harum-scarum raw, 

Wi' smilin' face. 



160 



IV 

A MILE an' a BITTOCK 

A MILE an' a bittock, a mile or twa, 
Abune the burn, ayont the law, 
Davie an' Donal' an' Cherlie an' a'. 
An' the mune was shinin' clearly! 

Ane went hame wi' the ither, an' then 
The ither v/ent hame wi' the ither twa men, 
An' baith wad return him the service again, 
An' the mune was shinin' clearly! 

The clocks were chappin' in house an' ha*, 
Eleeven, twal an' ane an' twa; 
An' the guidman's face was turnt to the wa', 
An' the mune was shinin' clearly! 

A wind got up frae affa the sea, 
It blew the stars as dear's could be. 
It blew in the een of a' o' the three. 
An' the mune was shinin' clearly! 

Noo, Davie was first to get sleep in his head, 
•'The best o' frien's maun twine," he said; 
"I'm weariet, an' here I'm awa' to my bed.'* 
An' the mune was shinin' clearly! 

i6i 



UNDERWOODS 

Twa o' them walkin' an' crackin' their lane. 
The mornin' licht cam gray an' plain, 
An' the birds they yammert on stick an' stane. 
An' the mune was shinin' clearly! 

O years ayont, O years awa*, 
My lads, ye'll mind whate'er befa' — 
My lads, ye'll mind on the bield o' the law, 
When the miine was shinin' clearly 1 



162 



A LOWDEN SABBATH MORN 

THE clinkum-clank o' Sabbath bells 
Noo to the hoastin' rookery swells, 
Noo faintin' laigh in shady dells, 

Sounds far an' near, 
An' through the simmer kintry tells 
Its tale o' cheer. 

An' noo, to that melodious play, 
A' deidly awn the quiet sway — 
A' ken their solemn holiday. 

Bestial an' human, 
The singin' lintie on the brae, 

The restin' plou'man. 

He, mair than a' the lave o' men, 
His week completit joys to ken; 
Half-dressed, he daunders out an' in, 

Perplext wi' leisure; 
An' his raxt limbs he'll rax again 

Wi' painfu' pleesure. 

The steerin' mither Strang afit 
Noo shoos the bairnies but a bit; 
163 



UNDERWOODS 

Noo cries them ben, their Sinday shiiit 

To scart upon them, 
Or sweeties in their pouch to pit, 

Wi' biessin's on them. 

The lasses, clean frae tap to taes, 
Are busked in crunklin' underclaes; 
The gartened hose, the weel-filled stays, 

The nakit shift, 
A' bleached on bonny greens for days, 

An' white's the drift. 

An' noo to face the kirkward mile: 
The guidman's hat o' dacent style, 
The blackit shoon, we noo maun fyle 

As white's the miller: 
A waefu' peety tae, to spile 

The warth o' siller. 

Our Marg'et, aye sae keen to crack 
Douce-stappin' in the stoury track 
Her emeralt goun a' kiltit back 

Frae snawy coats, 
White-ankled, leads the kirkward pack 

Wi' Dauvit Groats. 

A' thocht ahint, in runkled breeks, 
A' spiled wi' lyin' by for weeks. 
The guidman follows closs, an' cleiks 

The sonsie missis; 
His sarious face at aince bespeaks 

The day that this is. 
164 



A LOWDEN SABBATH MORN 

And aye an' while we nearer draw 
To whaur the kirkton lies alaw, 
Mair neebours, comin' saft an' slaw 

Frae here an' there, 
The thicker thrang the gate an' caw 

The stour in air. 

But hark ! the bells frae nearer clang ; 
To rowst the slaw, their sides they bang; 
An' see! black coats a'ready thrang 

The green kirkyaird ; 
And at the yett, the chestnuts spang 

That brocht the laird. 

The solemn elders at the plate 
Stand drinkin' deep the pride o' state: 
The practised hands as gash an' great 

As Lords o' Session ; 
The later named, a wee thing blate 

In their expression. 

The prentit stanes that mark the deid, 
Wi' lengthened lip, the sarious read; 
Syne wag a moraleesin' heid, 

An' then an' there 
Their hirplin' practice an' their creed 

Try hard to square. 

It's here our Merren lang has lain, 
A wee bewast the table-stane ; 
An' yon's the grave o' Sandy Blane; 
An' further ower, 
165 



UNDERWOODS 

The mither's brithers, dacent men! 
Lie a' the fower. 

Here the guidman sail bide awce 
To dwall amang the deid; to see 
Auld faces clear in fancy's e'e; 

Belike to hear 
Auld voices fa'in saft an' slee 

On fancy's ear. 

Thus, on the day o' solemn things, 
The bell that in the steeple swings 
To fauld a scaittered faim'ly rings 

Its walcome screed; 
An' just a wee thing nearer brings 

The quick an' deid. 

But noo the bell is ringin' in; 
To tak their places, folk begin; 
The minister himsel' will shune 

Be up the gate, 
Filled fu' wi' clavers about sin 

An' man's estate. 

The tunes are up — French, to be shure, 
The faithfu' French, an' twa-three mair; 
The auld prezentor, hoastin' sair, 

Wales out the portions. 
An' yirks the tune into the air 

Wi' queer contortions. 

Follows the prayer, the readin' next, 
An' than the fisslin' for the text — 
1 66 



A LOWDEN SABBATH MORN 

The twa-three last to find it, vext 

But kind o' proud; 
An' than the peppermints are raxed, 

An' southernwood. 

For noo's the time whan pows are seen 
Nid-noddin' lii<e a mandareen; 
When tenty mithers stap a preen 

In sleepin' weans; 
An' nearly half the parochine 

Forget their pains. 

There's just a waukrif twa or three: 
Thrawn commentautors sweer to 'gree, 
Weans glowrin' at the bumlin' bee 

On windie-glasses, 
Or lads that tak a keek a-glee 

At sonsie lasses. 

Himsel', meanwhile, frae whaur he cocks 
An' bobs belaw the soundin'-box, 
The treesures of his words unlocks 

Wi' prodigality, 
An' deals some unco dingin' knocks 

To infidality. 

Wi' sappy unction, hoo he burkes 

The hopes o' men that trust in works, 

Expounds the fau'ts o' ither kirks. 

An' shaws the best o' them 

No muckle better than mere Turks, 

When a's confessed o' them. 
167 



UNDERWOODS 

Bethankit! what a bonny creed! 

What mair would ony Christian need? — 

The braw words rumm'le ower his heid, 

Nor steer the sleeper; 
And in their restin' graves, the deid 

Sleep aye the deeper. 

Note. — It maybe guessed by some that I had a certain parish in my 
eye, and this makes it proper I should add a word of disclamation, in 
my time there have been two ministers in that parish. Of the first I 
have a special reason to speak well, even had there been any to think 
ill. The second 1 have often met in private and long (in the due phrase) 
" sat under" in his church, and neither here nor there have I heard an 
unkind or ugly word upon his lips. The preacher of the text had thus 
no original in that particular parish; but when I was a boy, he might 
have been observed in many others; he was then (like the schoolmas- 
ter) abroad; and by recent advices, it would seem he has not yet 
entirely disappeared. 



168 



VI 

THE SPAEWIFE 

01 wad like to ken — to the beggar-wife says I — 
^ Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid 
to fry. 
An' siller, that's sae braw to keep, is brawer still to gi'e. 
— It's gey an' easy spierin' , says the beggar-wife to me. 

O, I wad like to ken — to the beggar-wife says I — 
Hoo a' things come to be whaur we find them when we 

try. 
The lasses in their claes an' the fishes in the sea. 
— It's gey an' easy spierin' , says the beggar-wife to me. 

O, I wad like to ken — to the beggar-wife says I — 

Why lads are a' to sell an' lasses a' to buy; 

An' naebody for dacency but barely twa or three. 

— It's gey an' easy spierin' , says the beggar-wife to me. 

O, I wad like to ken — to the beggar- wife says I — 
Gin death's as shure to men as killin' is to kye. 
Why God has filled the yearth sae fu' o' tasty things to 
pree. 

— Ws gey an' easy spierin', says the beggar-wife to me. 

169 



UNDERWOODS 



O, I wad like to ken — to the beggar-wife says I — 
The reason o' the cause an' the wherefore o' the why, 
Wi' mony anither riddle brings the tear into my e'e. 
— If s gey an' easy spienn\ says the beggar-wife to me. 



« ]o 



VII 

THE BLAST — 1 875 

IT'S rainin'. Weet's the gairden sod, 
Weet the lang roads whaur gangrels plod ■ 
A maist unceevil thing o' God 

In mid July — 
If ye'll just curse the sneckdraw, dod! 
An' sae wull I! 

He's a braw place in Heev'n, ye ken, 
An' lea's us puir, forjaskit men 
Clamjamfried in the but and ben 

He ca's the earth — 
A wee bit inconvenient den 

No muckle worth; 

An' whiles, at orra times, keeks out, 
Sees what puir mankind are about; 
An' if He can, I've little doubt. 

Upsets their plans; 
He hates a' mankind, brainch and root. 

And a' that's man's. 

An' whiles, whan they tak heart again, 
An' life i' the sun looks braw an' plain, 



UNDERWOODS 

Doun comes a jaw o' droukin' rain 
Upon their honours — 

God sends a spate outower the plain, 
Or mebbe thun'ers. 

Lord safe us, life's an unco thing! 
Simmer an' Winter, Yule an' Spring, 
The damned, dour-heartit seasons bring 

A feck o' trouble. 
I wadnae try't to be a king — 

No, nor for double. 

But since we're in it, willy-nilly, 

We maun be watchfu', wise an' skilly, 

An' no mind ony ither billy. 

Lassie nor God. 
But drink — that's my best counsel till 'er 

Sae tak the nod. 



172 



VIII 

THE COUNTERBLAST — 1 886 

MY bonny man, the warld, it's true, 
Was made for neither me nor you; 
It's just a place to warstle through, 

As Job confessed o't; 
And aye the best that we'll can do 
Is mak the best o't. 

There's rowth o' wrang, I'm free to say: 
The simmer brunt, tne winter blae, 
The face of earth a' fyled wi' clay 

An' dour wi' chuckles, 
An' life a rough an' land'art play 

For country buckles. 

An' food's anither name for clart; 
An' beasts an' brambles bite an' scart; 
An' what would we be like, my heart! 

If bared o' claethin' ? 
— Aweel, I cannae mend your cart: 

It's that or naethin'. 

A feck o' folk frae first to last 

Have through this queer experience passed; 

I7» 



UNDERWOODS 

Twa-three, I ken, just damn an' blast 

The hale transaction ; 
But twa-three ithers, east an' wast, 

Fand satisfaction. 

Whaur braid the briery muirs expand, 

A waefii' an' a weary land. 

The bumblebees, a gowden band, 

Are blithely hingin' ; 
An' there the canty wanderer fand 

The laverock singin'. 

Trout in the burn grow great as herrn; 
The simple sheep can find their fair'n'; 
The wind blaws clean about the cairn 

Wi' caller air; 
The muircock an' the barefit bairn 

Are happy there. 

Sic-like the howes o' life to some: 

Green loans whaur they ne'er fash their thumb, 

But mark the muckle winds that come, 

Soopin' an' cool, 
Or hear the powrin' burnie drum 

In the shilfa's pool. 

The evil wi' the guid they tak; 
They ca' a gray thing gray, no black; 
To a steigh brae, a stubborn back 

Addressin' daily; 
An' up the rude, unbieldy track 

O' life, gang gaily. 
•74 



THE COUNTERBLAST— 1886 

What you would like's a palace ha', 
Or Sinday parlour dink an' braw 
Wi' a' things ordered in a raw 

By denty leddies. 
Weel, than, ye cannae hae't : that's a* 

That to be said is. 

An' since at life ye've ta'en the grue, 
An' winnae blithely hirsle through, 
Ye've fund the very thing to do — 

That's to drink speerit; 
An' shiine we'll hear the last o' you — 

An' blithe to hear it! 

The shoon ye coft, the life ye lead, 
Ithers will heir when aince ye're deid; 
They'll heir your tasteless bite o' breid, 

An' find it sappy; 
They'll to your dulefu' house succeed, 

An' there be happy. 

As whan a glum an' fractious wean 
Has sat an' sullened by his lane 
Till, wi' a rowstin' skelp, he's taen 

An' shoo'd to bed — 
The ither bairns a' fa' to play'n'. 

As gleg's a gled. 



'75 



IX 

THE COUNTERBLAST IRONICAL 

IT'S Strange that God should fash to frame 
The yearth and lift sae hie, 
An' clean forget to explain the same 
To a gentleman like me. 

They gutsy, donnered ither folk, 

Their weird they weel may dree; 
But why present a pig in a poke 

To a gentleman like me ? 

They ither folk their parritch eat 

An' sup their sugared tea; 
But the mind is no to be wyled wi' meat 

Wi' a gentleman like me. 

They ither folk, they court their joes 

At gloamin' on the lea; 
But they're made of a commoner clay, I suppose, 

Than a gentleman like me. 

They ither folk, for richt or wrang, 

They suffer, bleed, or dee; 
But a' thir things are an emp'y sang 

To a gentleman like me. 
176 



*l 



THE COUNTERBLAST IRONICAL 

It's a different thing that I demand, 
Tho' humble as can be — 

A statement fair in my Maker's hand 
To a gentleman like me: 

A clear account writ fair an' broad, 
An' a plain apologie; 
Or the deevil a ceevil word to God 
From a gentleman like me. 



*77 



X 

THEIR LAUREATE TO AN ACADEMY CLASS DINNER CLUB 

DEAR Thamson class, whaure'er I gang 
It aye comes ower me wi' a spang: 
" Lordsake ! they Thamson lads — (deil hang 
Or else Lord mend them) ! — 
An ' that wanchancy annual sang 
I ne'er can send them! " 

Straucht, at the name, a trusty tyke, 
My conscience girrs ahint the dyke; 
Straucht on my hinderlands I fyke 

To find a rhyme t' ye; 
Pleased — although mebbe no pleased-like — 

To gie my time t' ye. 

"Weel," an' says you, wi' heavin' breist, 
" Sae far, sae guid, hut what's the neist? 
Yearly we gaither to the feast, 

A' hopefu men — 
Yearly we shelloch ' Hang the beast — 
Nae sang again ! ' " 

My lads, an' what am I to say ? 
Ye shiirely ken the Muse's way: 
178 



TO AN ACADEMY CLASS DINNER CLUB 

Yestreen, as gleg's a tyke — the day, 
Thrawn like a cuddy: 

Her conduc', that to her's a play, 
Deith to a body. 

Aft whan I sat an' made my mane. 
Aft whan I laboured burd-alane, 
Fishin' for rhymes an' findin' nane. 

Or nane were fit for ye — 
Ye judged me cauld's a chucky stane — 

No car'n' a bit for ye! 

But saw ye ne'er some pingein' bairn 

As weak as a pitaty-par'n' — 

Less used wi' guidin' horse-shoe airn 

Than steerin' crowdie — 
Packed aflF his lane, by moss an' cairn, 

To ca' the howdie. 

Wae's me, for the puir callant than! 
He wambles like a poke o' bran. 
An' the lowse rein, as hard's he can, 

Pu's, trem'lin' handit; 
Till, blaff! upon his hinderlan' 

Behauld him landit. 

Sic-like — I awn the weary fac' — 
Whan on my muse the gate I tak, 
An' see her gleed e'e raxin' back 

To keek ahint her; — 
To me, the brig o' Heev'n gangs black 

As blackest winter. 
■79 



UNDERWOODS 

" Lordsakef we're aff/' thinks I, " but whaur } 
On what abhorred an ' whinny scaur. 
Or whammled in what sea o' glaur. 

Win she desert me ? 
An' will she just disgrace ? or waur — 

Will she no hurt me ? " 

Kittle the quaere! But at least 

The day I've backed the fashious beast, 

While she, wi' mony a spang an' reist, 

Flang heels ower bonnet; 
An' a' triumphant — for your feast, 

Hae! there's your sonnet! 



189 



XI 

EMBRO HIE KIRK 

•*T^HE Lord Himsel' in former days 

I Waled out the proper tilnes for praise 
An' named the proper kind o' claes 

For folk to preach in : 
Preceese and in the chief o' ways 
Important teachin'. 

He ordered a' things late and air' ; 
He ordered folk to stand at prayer. 
(Although I cannae just mind where 

He gave the warnin'.) 
An' pit pomatum on their hair 

On Sabbath mornin'. 

The hale o' life by His commands 
Was ordered to a body's hands; 
But see! this corpus Juris stands 

By a' forgotten ; 
An' God's religion in a' lands 

Is deid an' rotten. 

While thus the lave o' mankind's lost, 
O' Scotland still God maks His boast — 

i8i 



UNDERWOODS 

Puir Scotland, on whase barren coast 

A score or twa 
Auld wives wi' mutches an' a hoast 

Still keep His law. 

In Scotland, a wheen canty, plain, 
Douce, kintry-leevin' folk retain 
The Truth — or did so aince — alane 

Of a' men leevin'; 
An' noo just twa o' them remain — 

Just Begg an' Niven. 

For noo, unfaithfu' to the Lord 
Auld Scotland joins the rebel horde; 
Her human hymn-books on the board 

She noo displays : 
An' Embro Hie Kirk's been restored 

In popish ways. 

O punctum femporis for action 
To a' o' the reformin' faction, 
If yet, by ony act or paction, 

Thocht, word, or sermon. 
This dark an' damnable transaction 

Micht yet determine! 

For see — as Doctor Begg explains — 
Hoo easy 't's dune! a pickle weans, 
Wha in the Hie Street gaither stanes 

By his instruction. 
The uncovenantit, pentit panes 

Ding to destruction. 
182 



I 



EMBRO HIE KIRK 

Up, Niven, or ower late — an' dash 
Laigh in the glaur that carnal hash ; 
Let spires and pews wi' gran' stramash 

Thegether fa' ; 
The rumlin' kist o' whustles smash 

In pieces sma'. 

Noo choose ye out a waie hammer; 
About the knottit buttress clam'er; 
Alang the steep roof stoyt an' stammer, 

A gate mis-chancy; 
On the aul' spire, the bells' hie cha'mer, 

Dance your bit dancie. 

Ding, devel, dunt, destroy, an' ruin, 
Wi' carnal stanes the square bestrewin'. 
Till your loud chaps frae Kyle to Fruin, 

Frae Hell to Heeven, 
Tell the guid wark that baith are doin' — 

Baith Begg an' Niven. 






XII 

THE SCOTSMAN'S RETURN FROM ABROAD 
In a letter from Mr. Thomson to Mr. Johnstone 

IN mony a foreign pairt I've been, 
An' mony an unco ferlie seen, 
Since, Mr. Johnstone, you and 1 
Last walkit upon Cocklerye. 
Wi' gleg, observant een, I pass't 
By sea an' land, through East an' Wast, 
And still in ilka age an' station 
Saw naething but abomination. 
In thir uncovenantit lands 
The gangrel Scot uplifts his hands 

At lack of a' sectarian fush'n. 
An' cauld religious destitution. 
He rins, puir man, frae place to place, 
Tries a' their graceless means o' grace. 
Preacher on preacher, kirk on kirk — 
This yin a stot an' thon a stirk — 
A bletherin' clan, no warth a preen, 
As bad as Smith of Aiberdeen! 

At last, across the weary faem, 
Frae far, outlandish pairts I came. 
184 



t 



THE SCOTSMAN'S RETURN FROM ABROAD 

On ilka side o' me I fand 
Fresh tokens o' my native land. 
Wi' whatna joy I hailed them a' — 
The hilltaps standin' raw by raw, 
The public house, the Hielan' birks, 
And a' the bonny U. P. kirks! 
But maistly thee, the bluid o' Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk to John o' Grots, 
The king o' drinks, as I conceive it, 
Talisker, Isla, or Glenlivet! 

For after years wi' a pockmantie 

Frae Zanzibar to Alicante, 

In mony a fash and sair affliction 

I gie't as my sincere conviction — 

Of a' their foreign tricks an' pliskies, 

I maist abominate their whiskies. 

Nae doot, themsels, they ken it weel. 

An' wi' a hash o' leemon peel, 

And ice an' siccan filth, they ettle 

The stawsome kind o' goo to settle; 

Sic wersh apothecary's broos wi' 

As Scotsmen scorn to fyle their moo's wi'. 

An', man, I was a blithe hame-comer 
Whan first I syndit out my rummer. 
Ye should hae seen me then, wi' care 
The less important pairts prepare; 
Syne, weel contentit wi' it a', 
Pour in the speerits wi' a jaw! 
I didnae drink, I didnae speak, — 
I only snowkit up the reek. 
183 



UNDERWOODS 

I was sae pleased therin to paidle, 
I sat an' plowtered wi' my ladle. 

An' blithe was I, the morrow's morn, 
To daunder through the stookit corn, 
And after a' my strange mishanters. 
Sit doun amang my ain dissenters. 
An', man, it was a joy to me 
The pu'pit an' the pews to see, 
The pennies dirlin' in the plate. 
The elders lookin' on in state; 
An' 'mang the first, as it befell, 
Wha should I see, sir, but yoursel'I 

I was, and I will no deny it, 

At the first gliff a hantle tryit 

To see yoursel' in sic a station — 

It seemed a doubtfu' dispensation. 

The feelin' was a mere digression; 

For shune 1 understood the session, 

An' mindin' Aiken an' M'Neil, 

I wondered they had diine sae weel. 

I saw 1 had mysel' to blame; 

For had I but remained at hame, 

Aiblins — though no ava' deservin' 't — 

They micht hae named your humble servant. 

The kirk was filled, the door was steeked; 
Up to the pu'pit ance I keeked; 
I was mair pleased than I can tell — 
It was the minister himsel'l 

1 86 



THE SCOTSMAN'S RETURN FROM ABROAD 

Proud, proud was I to see his face, 

After sae lang awa' frae grace. 

Pleased as I was, I'm no denyin' 

Some maitters were not edifyin' ; 

For first I fand — an' here was news ! — 

Mere hymn-books cockin' in the pews — 

A humanised abomination, 

Unfit for ony congregation. 

Syne, while I still was on the tenter, 

I scunnered at the new prezentor; 

I thocht him gesterin' an' cauld — 

A sair declension frae the auld. 

Syne, as though a' the faith was wreckit, 

The prayer was not what I'd exspeckit. 

Himsel', as it appeared to me. 

Was no the man he iised to be. 

But just as I was growin' vext 

He waled a maist judeecious text. 

An', launchin' into his prelections, 

Swoopt, wi' a skirl, on a' defections. 

what a gale was on my speerit 
To hear the p'ints o' doctrine clearit, 
And a' the horrors o' damnation 
Set furth wi' faithfu' ministration! 
Nae shauchlin' testimony here — 

We were a' damned, an' that was clear. 

1 owned, wi' gratitude an' wonder, 
He was a pleisure to sit under. 



187 



XIII 

LATE in the nicht in bed I lay, 
The winds were at their weary play, 
An' tirlin' wa's an' skirlin' wae 

Through Heev'n they battered ; — 
On-ding o' hail, on-blaff o' spray, 
The tempest blattered. 

The masoned house it dinled through; 
It dung the ship, it cowped the coo'; 
The rankit aiks it overthrew, 

Had braved a' weathers; 
The Strang sea-gleds it took an blew 

Awa' like feathers. 

The thrawes o' fear on a' were shed, 
An' the hair rose, an' slumber fled. 
An' lichts were lit an' prayers were said 

Through a' the kintry; 
An' the cauld terror clum in bed 

Wi' a' an' sindry. 

To hear in the pit-mirk on hie 
The brangled collieshangie flie. 
The warl', they thocht, wi' land an' sea, 

Itsel' wad cowpit; 
An' for auld airn, the smashed debris 

By God be rowpit. 
188 



LATE IN THE NICHT 

Meanwhile frae far Aldebaran, 

To folks wi' talescopes in han', 

O' ships that cowpit, winds that ran, 

Nae sign was seen, 
But the wee warl' in sunshine span 

As bricht's a preen. 

I, tae, by God's especial grace, 
Dwall denty in a bieldy place, 
Wi' hosened feet, wi' shaven face, 

Wi' dacent mainners: 
A grand example to the race 

O' tautit sinners! 

The wind may blaw, the heathen rage, 
The deil may start on the rampage; — 
The sick in bed, the thief in cage — 

What's a' to me ? 
Cosh in my house, a sober sage, 

I sit an' see. 

An' whiles the bluid spangs to my bree. 
To lie sae saft, to live sae free, 
While better men maun do an' die 

In unco places. 
" Whaur's God? " I cry, an' " IVhae is me 

To hae sic graces ? ' ' 

I mind the fecht the sailors keep. 
But fire or can'le. rest or sleep, 
189 



UNDERWOODS 

In darkness an' the muckle deep; 

An' mind beside 
The herd that on the hills o' sheep 

Has wandered wide. 
I mind me on the hoastin' weans — 
The penny joes on causey stanes — 
The auld folk wi' the crazy banes, 

Baith auld an' puir, 
That aye maun thole the winds an' rains. 

An' labour sair. 

An' whiles I'm kind o' pleased a blink, 
An' kind o' fleyed forby, to think, 
For a' my rowth o' meat an' drink 

An' waste o' crumb, 
I'll mebbe have to thole wi' skink 

In Kingdom Come. 

For God whan jowes the Judgment bell, 
Wi' His ain Hand, His Leevin' Sel', 
Sail ryve the guid (as Prophets tell) 

Frae them that had it; 
And in the reamin' pat o' Hell, 

The rich be scaddit. 

O Lord, if this indeed be sae. 
Let daw that sair an' happy day! 
Again' the warl', grawn auld an' gray, 

Up wi' your aixe! 
And let the puir enjoy their play — 

I'll thole my paiks. 



190 



XIV 

MY conscience! 

OF a' the ills that flesh can fear, 
The loss o' frien's, the lack o' gear, 
A yowlin' tyke, a glandered mear, 

A lassie's nonsense — 
There's just ae thing I cannae bear, 
An' that's my conscience. 

Whan day (an' a' excuse) has gane. 
An' wark is dune, and duty's plain. 
An' to my chalmer a' my lane 

I creep apairt, 
My conscience! hoo the yammerin' pain 

Stends to my heart ! 

A' day wi' various ends in view 
The hairsts o' time I had to pu', 
An' made a hash wad staw a soo. 

Let be a man! — 
My conscience! whan my ban's were fu', 

Whaur were ye then ? 

An' there were a' the lures o' life, 
There pleesure skirlin' on the fife. 



UNDERWOODS 

There anger, wi' the hotchin' knife 

Ground shairp in Hell — 
My conscience! — you that's like a wifel — 

Whaur was yoursel' ? 

I ken it fine: just waitin' here, 

To gar the evil waur appear, 

To clart the guid, confuse the clear, 

Misca' the great, 
My conscience! an' to raise a steer 

When a's ower late. 

Sic-like, some tyke grawn auld and blind, 
Whan thieves brok' through the gear to p'ind 
Has lain his dozened length an' grinned 

At the disaster; 
An' the morn's mornin', wud's the wind, 

Yokes on his master. 



r^a 



XV 

TO DOCTOR JOHN BROWN 

(IVhan the dear doSlor, dear to a', 
IVas still amang us here belaw, 
I set my pipes his praise to blaw 

iVi' a' my ipeerit; 
But noo, Dear Do£tor ! he's awa'. 

An' ne'er can hear it.) 

BY Lyne and Tyne, by Thames and Tees 
By a' the various river-Dee's, 
In Mars and Manors 'yont the seas 

Or here at hame, 
Whaure'er there's kindly folk to please, 
They ken your name. 

They ken your name, they ken your tyke, 
They ken the honey from your byke; 
But mebbe after a' your fyke, 

(The truth to tell) 
It's just your honest Rab they like, 

An' no yoursel'. 

As at the gowflf, some canny play'r 
Should tee a common ba' wi' care — 
^9i 



UNDERWOODS 

Should flourish and deleaver fair 
His souple shintie — 

An' the ba' rise into the air, 
A leevin' lintie: 

Sae in the game we writers play, 
There comes to some a bonny day, 
When a dear ferlie shall repay 

Their years o' strife, 
An' like you Rab, their things o' clay, 

Spreid wings o' life. 

Ye scarce deserved it, I'm afraid — 
You that had never learned the trade, 
But just some idle mornin' strayed 

Into the schule. 
An' picked the fiddle up an' played 

Like Neil himsel'. 

Your e'e was gleg, your fingers dink; 
Ye didnae fash yoursel' to think. 
But wove, as fast as puss can link. 

Your denty wab: — 
Ye stapped your pen into the ink. 

An' there was Rab! 

Sinsyne, whaure'er your fortune lay 
By dowie den, by canty brae, 
Simmer an' winter, nicht an' day, 

Rab was aye wi' ye; 
An' a' the folk on a' the way 

Were blithe to see ye. 
194 



TO DR. JOHN BROWN 

O sir, the gods are kind indeed, 
An' hauld ye for an iionoured heid, 
That for a wee bit clarkit screed 

Sae weel reward ye, 
An' lend — puir Rabbie bein' deid — 

His ghaist to guard ye. 

For though, whaure'er yoursel' may be, 
We've just to turn an' glisk a wee, 
An' Rab at heel we're shiire to see 

Wi' gladsome caper: 
The bogle of a bogle, he — 

A ghaist o' paper! 

And as the auld-farrand hero sees 

In Hell a bogle Hercules, 

Pit there the lesser deid to please, 

While he himsel' 
Dwalls wi' the muckle gods at ease 

Far raised frae hell : 

Sae the true Rabbie far has gane 

On kindlier business o' his ain 

Wi' aulder frien's ; an' his breist-bane 

An' stumpie tailie, 
He birstles at a new hearth stane 

By James and Ailie. 



195 



XVI 

IT'S an owercome sooth for age an' youth 
And it brooks wi' nae denial, 
That the dearest friends are the auldest friends 
And the young are just on trial. 

There's a rival bauld wi' young an' auld 

And it's him that has bereft me; 
For the surest friends are the auldest friends 

And the maist o' mines hae left me. 

There are kind hearts still, for friends to fill 
And fools to take and break them ; 

But the nearest friends are the auldest friends 
And the grave's the place to seek them. 



196 



BOOK III 

BEING 

SONGS OF TRAVEL AND OTHER VERSES 

IVritten principally in the South Seas, 1888-1894 



Copyright 1895, by 

ONaRLES dCRIBNBR's SONS. 



THE VAGABOND 
(7b an air of Schubert) 

GIVE to me the life I love. 
Let the lave go by me, 
Give the jolly heaven above 
And the byway nigh me. 
Bed in the bush with stars to see. 

Bread I dip in the river — 
There's the life for a man like me. 
There's the life for ever. 

Let the blow fall soon or late, 

Let what will be o'er me; 
Give the face of earth around 

And the road before me. 
Wealth I seek not, hope nor love. 

Nor a friend to know me ; 
All I seek the heaven above 

And the road below me. 

Or let autumn fall on me 

Where afield I linger. 
Silencing the bird on tree. 

Biting the blue finger: 
199 



UNDERWOODS 

White as meal the frosty field — 
Warm the fireside haven — 

Not to autumn will I yield. 
Not to winter even! 

Let the blow fall soon or late. 

Let what will be o'er me; 
Give the face of earth around. 

And the road before me. 
Wealth 1 ask not, hope nor love. 

Nor a friend to know me. 
All 1 ask the heaven above. 

And the road below me. 



200 



II 

YOUTH AND LOVE — I 

ONCE only by the garden gate 
Our lips we joined and parted. 
I must fulfil an empty fate 
And travel the uncharted. 

Hail and farewell ! I must arise, 
Leave here the fatted cattle. 

And paint on foreign lands and skies 
My Odyssey of battle. 

The untented Kosmos my abode, 

I pass, a wilful stranger: 
My mistress still the open road 

And the bright eyes of danger. 

Come ill or well, the cross, the crown. 
The rainbow or the thunder, 

I fling my soul and body down 
For God to plough them under. 



aoi 



Ill 

YOUTH AND LOVE — II 

TO the heart of youth the world is a highwayside 
Passing for ever, he fares ; and on either hand, 
Deep in the gardens golden pavilions hide. 

Nestle in orchard bloom, and far on the level land 
Call him with lighted lamp in the eventide. 

Thick as the stars at night when the moon is down, 
Pleasures assail him. He to his nobler fate 

Fares; and but waves a hand as he passes on. 
Cries but a wayside word to her at the garden gate, 

Sings but a boyish stave and his face is gone. 



202 



IV 

THE UNFORGOTTEN — I 

IN dreams, unhappy, I behold you stand 
As heretofore : 
The unremembered tokens in your hand 
Avail no more. 

No more the morning glow, no more the grace, 

Enshrines, endears. 
Cold beats the light of time upon your face 

And shows your tears. 

He came, he went. Perchance you wept a while 

And then forgot. 
Ah me! but he that left you with a smile 

Forgets you not. 



20J 



THE UNFORGOTTEN — II 

SHE rested by the Broken Brook 
She drank of Weary Well, 
She moved beyond my lingering look. 
Ah, whither none can tell! 

She came, she went. In other lands. 

Perchance in fairer skies, 
Her hands shall cling with other hands. 

Her eyes to other eyes. 

She vanished. In the sounding town. 

Will she remember too ? 
Will she recall the eyes of brown 

As I recall the blue ? 



204 



1 



VI 

" HE infinite shining heavens 
Rose and I saw in the night 



Uncountable angel stars 
Showering sorrow and light. 

I saw them distant as heaven, 
Dumb and shining and dead, 

And the idle stars of the night 
Were dearer to me than bread. 

Night after night in my sorrow 
The stars stood over the sea. 

Till lo! I looked in the dusk 
And a star had come down to me. 



305 



VII 

MADRIGAL 

PLAIN as the glistering planets shine 
When winds have cleaned the skies. 
Her love appeared, appealed for mine 
And wantoned in her eyes. 

Clear as the shining tapers burned 

On Cytherea's shrine, 
Those brimming, lustrous beauties turned, 

And called and conquered mine. 

The beacon-lamp that Hero lit 

No fairer shone on sea. 
No plainlier summoned will and wit. 

Than hers encouraged me. 

I thrilled to feel her influence near, 

I struck my flag at sight. 
Her starry silence smote my ear 

Like sudden drums at night. 

I ran as, at the cannon's roar, 
The troops the ramparts man — 

As in the holy house of yore 
The willing Eli ran. 
206 



MADRIGAL 



Here, lady, lo! that servant stands 
You picked from passing men, 

And should you need nor heart nor hands 
He bows and goes again. 



207 



VIII 

To you, let snow and roses 
And golden locks belong. 
These are the world's enslavers. 
Let these delight the throng. 
For her of duskier lustre 

Whose favour still I wear, 
The snow be in her kirtle, 
The rose be in her hair! 

The hue of highland rivers 

Careering, full and cool, 
From sable on to golden. 

From rapid on to pool — • 
The hue of heather-honey, 

The hue of honey-bees. 
Shall tinge her golden shoulder, 

Shall gild her tawny knees. 



aoL 



IX 

LET BEAUTY AWAKE 

LET Beauty awake in the morn from beautiful dreams, 
ji Beauty awake from rest ! 

Let Beauty awake 
For Beauty's sake 
In the hour when the birds awake in the brake 
And the stars are bright in the westl 

Let Beauty awake in the eve from the slumber of day, 

Awake in the crimson eve! 

In the day's dusk end 

V'^hen the shades ascend, 
Let her wake to the kiss of a tender friend 

To render again and receive! 



209 



I KNOW not how it is with you — 
/ love the first and last, 
The whole field of the present view, 
The whole flow of the past. 

One tittle of the things that are, 
Nor you should change nor I — 

One pebble in our path — one star 
In all our heaven of sky. 

Our lives, and every day and hour, 

One symphony appear: 
One road, one garden — every flower 

And every bramble dear. 



2IO 



XI 

I WILL make you brooches and toys for your delight 
Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night. 
I will make a palace fit for you and me 
Of green days in forests and blue days at sea. 

I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room, 
Where white flows the river and bright blows the 

broom, 
And you shall wash your linen and keep your body white 
In rainfall at morning and dewfall at night. 

And this shall be for music when no one else is near. 
The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear! 
That only I remember, that only you admire, 
Of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire. 



211 



XII 

WE HAVE LOVED OF YORE 
(To an air of DiabtlU) 

BERRIED brake and reedy island, 
Heaven below, and only heaven above, 
Through the sky's inverted azure 
Softly swam the boat that bore our love. 
Bright were your eyes as the day; 
Bright ran the stream, 
Bright hung the sky above. 
Days of April, airs of Eden, 

How the glory died through golden hours, 
And the shining moon arising 

How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers! 
Bright were your eyes in the night: 
We have lived, my love — 
O, we have loved, my love. 

Frost has bound our flowing river. 

Snow has whitened all our island brake, 
And beside the winter fagot 
Joan and Darby doze and dream and wake. 
Still, in the river of dreams 
Swims the boat of love — 
Hark! chimes the falling oar ! 

212 



WE HAVE LOVED OF YORE 

And again in winter evens 

When on firelight dreaming fancy feeds, 
In those ears of aged lovers 

Love's own river warbles in the reeds. 
Love still the past, O, my love ! 
We have lived of yore, 
O, we have loved of yore. 



»•■» 



T' 



XIII 

DITTY 
(To an air from Bach) 

^HE cock shall crow 

In the morning grey, 
The bugles blow 

At the break of day : 
The cock shall sing and the merry bugles ring, 
And all the little brown birds sing upon the spray. 

The thorn shall blow 

In the month of May, 
And my love shall go 

In her holiday array: 
But I shall lie in the kirkyard nigh 
While all the little brown birds sing upon the spray. 



214 



XIV 

MATER TRIUMPHANS 

SON of my woman's body, you go, to the drum and 
fife, 
To taste the colour of love and the other side of life — 
From out of the dainty the rude, the strong from out of 

the frail. 
Eternally through the ages from the female comes the 
male. 

The ten fingers and toes, and the shell-like nail on each. 
The eyes blind as gems and the tongue attempting 

speech ; 
Impotent hands in my bosom, and yet they shall wield 

the sword! 
Drugged with slumber and milk, you wait the day of the 

Lord. 

Infant bridegroom, uncrowned king, unanointed priest. 
Soldier, lover, explorer, I see you nozzle the breast. 
You that grope in my bosom shall load the ladies with 

rings, 
You, that came forth through the doors, shall burst the 

doors of Kings. 



215 



XV 

BRIGHT is the ring of words 
Wiien the right man rings them, 
Fair the fall of songs 

When the singer sings them. 
Still they are carolled and said — 

On wings they are carried — 
After the singer is dead 
And the maker buried. 

Low as the singer lies 

In the field of heather, 
Songs of his fashion bring 

The swains together. 
And when the west is red 

With the sunset embers. 
The lover lingers and sings 

And the maid remembers. 



216 



XVI 

IN the highlands, in the country places, 
Where the old plain men have rosy faces, 
And the young fair maidens 
Quiet eyes; 

Where essential silence cheers and blesses. 
And for ever in the hill-recesses 
Her more lovely music 
Broods and dies. 

O to mount again where erst I haunted; 

Where the old red hills are bird-enchanted, 

And the low green meadows 

Bright with sward; 

And when even dies, the million-tinted. 

And the night has come, and planets glinted, 

Lo! the valley hollow, 

Lamp-bestarred. 

O to dream, O to awake and wander 

There, and with delight to take and render, 

Through the trance of silence. 

Quiet breath ; 

Lo! for there, among the flowers and grasses, 

Only the mightier movement sounds and passes; 

Only winds and rivers, 

Life and death. 



217 



XVII 

WANDERING WILLIE 

HOME no more home to me, whither must I wander? 
Hunger my driver, I go where I must. 
Cold blows the winter wind over hill and heather; 
Thick drives the rain, and my roof is in the dust. 
Loved of wise men was the shade of my roof-tree. 

The true word of welcome was spoken in the door— 
Dear days of old, with the faces in the firelight, 
Kind folks of old, you come again no more. 

Home was home then, my dear, full of kindly faces, 

Home was home then, my dear, happy for the child. 
Fire and the windows bright glittered on the moorland; 

Song, tuneful song, built a palace in the wild. 
Now, when day dawns on the brow of the moorland. 

Lone stands the house, and the chimney-stone is cold. 
Lone let it stand, now the friends are all departed, 

The kind hearts, the true hearts, that loved the place 
of old. 

Spring shall come, come again, calling up the moor-fowl, 
Spring shall bring the sun and rain, bring the bees and 
flowers ; 

218 



WANDERING WILLIE 

Red shall the heather bloom over hill and valley, 
Soft flow the stream through the even-flowing hours; 

Fair the day shine as it shone on my childhood — 
Fair shine the day on the house with open door; 

Birds come and cry there and twitter in the chimney — 
But I go forever and come again no more. 



319 



XVIII 

TO DR. HAKE 
(On receiving a copy of verses) 

IN the beloved hour that ushers day, 
In the pure dew, under the breaking grey, 
One bird, ere yet the woodland quires awake. 
With brief reveille summons all the brake: 
Chirp, chirp, it goes; nor waits an answer long; 
And that small signal fills the grove with song. 

Thus on my pipe I breathed a strain or two; 

It scarce was music, but 'twas all I knew. 

It was not music, for I lacked the art, 

Yet what but frozen music filled my heart ? 

Chirp, chirp, I went, nor hoped a nobler strain ; 

But Heaven decreed I should not pipe in vain, 

For, lo ! not far from there, in secret dale, 

All silent, sat an ancient nightingale. 

My sparrow notes he heard; thereat awoke; 

And with a tide of song his silence broke. 



220 



XIX 

TO 

I KNEW thee strong and quiet like the hills; 
I knew thee apt to pity, brave to endure: 
In peace or war a Roman full equipt. 
And just I knew thee, like the fabled kings 
Who by the loud sea-shore gave judgment forth, 
From dawn to eve, bearded and few of words. 
What, what, was I to honour thee ? A child, 
A youth in ardour but a child in strength. 
Who after virtue's golden chariot-wheels 
Runs ever panting, nor attains the goal. 
So thought I, and was sorrowful at heart. 

Since then my steps have visited that flood 
Along whose shore the numerous footfalls cease. 
The voices and the tears of life expire. 
Thither the prints go down, the hero's way 
Trod large upon the sand, the trembling maid's: 
Nimrod that wound his trumpet in the wood. 
And the poor, dreaming child, hunter of flowers, 
That here his hunting closes with the great: 
So one and all go down, nor aught returns. 

For thee, for us, the sacred river waits ; 

For me. the unworthy, thee, the perfect friend. 

221 



UNDERWOODS 

There Blame desists, there his unfaltering dogs 
He from the chase recalls, and homeward rides; 
Yet Praise and Love pass over and go in. 
So when, beside that margin, I discard 
My more than mortal weakness, and with thee 
Through that still land unfearing I advance: 
If then at all we keep the touch of joy 
Thou shalt rejoice to find me altered — I, 
O Felix, to behold thee still unchanged. 



22* 



XX 



THE morning drum-call on my eager ear 
Thrills unforgotten yet; the morning dew 
Lies yet undried along my field of noon. 
But now I pause at whiles in what I do, 
And count the bell, and tremble lest I hear 

(My work untrimmed) the sunset gun too soon. 



3J-? 



XXI 



I HAVE trod the upward and the downward slope; 
I have endured and done in days before; 
I have longed for all, and bid farewell to hope; 
And I have lived and loved, and closed the door. 



224 



XXII 

HE hears with gladdened heart the thunder 
Peal, and loves the falling dew; 
He knows the earth above and under — 
Sits and is content to view. 

He sits beside the dying ember, 
God for hope and man for friend, 

Content to see, glad to remember, 
Expectant of the certain end. 



32$ 



XXIII 

THE LOST OCCASION 

FAREWELL, fair day and fading light! 
The clay-born here, with westward sight, 
Marks the huge sun now downward soar. 
Farewell. We twain shall meet no more. 

Farewell. I watch with bursting sigh 
My late contemned occasion die. 
I linger useless in my tent: 
Farewell, fair day, so foully spent! 

Farewell, fair day. If any God 
At all consider this poor clod, 
He who the fair occasion sent 
Prepared and placed the impediment. 

Let him diviner vengeance take — 
Give me to sleep, give me to wake 
Girded and shod, and bid me play 
The hero in the coming day! 



Zi6 



XXIV 

IF THIS WERE FAITH 

GOD, if this were enough, 
That I see things bare to the buff 
And up to the buttocks in mire; 
That I ask nor hope nor hire, 
Nut in the husk, 
Nor dawn beyond the dusk. 
Nor life beyond death : 
God, if this were faith ? 

Having felt thy wind in my face 
Spit sorrow and disgrace, 
Having seen thine evil doom 
In Golgotha and Khartoum, 
And the brutes, the work of thine hands. 
Fill with injustice lands 
And stain with blood the sea: 
If still in my veins the glee 
Of the black night and the sun 
And the lost battle, run : 
If, an adept. 

The iniquitous lists I still accept 
With joy, and joy to endure and be withstood, 
And still to battle and perish for a dream of good; 
God, if that were enough ? 

227 



UNDERWOODS 

If to feel, in the ink of tiie slough, 

And the sink of the mire, 

Veins of glory and fire 

Run through and transpierce and transpire, 

And a secret purpose of glory in every part, 

And the answering glory of battle fill my heart; 

To thrill with the joy of girded men 

To go on forever and fail and go on again. 

And be mauled to the earth and arise, 

And contend for the shade of a word and a thing 

not seen with the eyes : 
With the half of a broken hope for a pillow at 

night 
That somehow the right is the right 
And the smooth shall bloom from the rough; 
Lord, if that were enough ? 



328 



XXV 

MY WIFE 

TRUSTY, dusky, vivid, true, 
With eyes of gold and bramble-dew, 
Steel-true and blade-straight. 
The great artificer 
Made my mate. 

Honour, anger, valour, fire; 
A love that life could never tire, 
||:, ' Death quench or evil stir. 

The mighty master 
Gave to her. 

Teacher, tender, comrade, wife, 
A fellow-farer true through life. 

Heart-whole and soul-free 
The august father 

Gave to me. 



229 



XXVI 

WINTER 

IN rigorous hours, when down the iron lane 
The redbreast looks in vain 
For hips and haws, 
Lo, shining flowers upon my window-pane 
The silver pencil of the winter draws. 

When all the snowy hill 

And the bare woods are still; 

When snipes are silent in the frozen bogs, 

And all the garden garth is whelmed in mire, 
Lo, by the hearth, the laughter of the logs — 

More fair than roses, lo, the flowers of fire ! 



Saranac Lake. 



;^30 



XXVII 

THE stormy evening closes now in vain, 
Loud wails the wind and beats the driving rain, 
While here in sheltered house 

With fire-ypainted walls, 
I hear the wind abroad, 
I hark the calling squalls — 
"Blow, blow," I cry, "you burst your cheeks in vain! 
Blow, blow," I cry, "my love is home again!" 

Yon ship you chase perchance but yesternight 
Bore still the precious freight of my delight, 
That here in sheltered house 
With fire-ypainted walls. 
Now hears the wind abroad. 
Now harks the calling squalls. 
"Blow, blow," I cry, "in vain you rouse the sea, 
My rescued sailor shares the fire with me! " 



231 



XXVIII 

TO AN ISLAND PRINCESS 

SINCE long ago, a child at home, 
I read and longed to rise and roam. 
Where'er I went, whate'er I willed. 
One promised land my fancy filled. 
Hence the long roads my home I made; 
Tossed much in ships: have often laid 
Below the uncurtained sky my head, 
Rain-deluged and wind-buffeted: 
And many a thousand hills I crossed 
And corners turned — Love's labour lost, 
Till, Lady, to your isle of sun 
I came, not hoping; and, like one 
Snatched out of blindness, rubbed my eyes. 
And hailed my promised land with cries. 

Yes, Lady, here I was at last ; 
Here found I all I had forecast: 
The long roll of the sapphire sea 
That keeps the land's virginity; 
The stalwart giants of the wood 
Laden with toys and flowers and food; 
The precious forest pouring out 
To compass the whole town about; 
232 



TO AN ISLAND PRINCESS 

The town itself with streets of lawn, 
Loved of the moon, blessed by the dawn, 
Where the brown children all the day 
Keep up a ceaseless noise of play, 
Play in the sun, play in the rain, 
Nor ever quarrel or complain; — 
And late at night, in the woods of fruit, 
Hark! do you hear the passing flute? 

. I threw one look to either hand. 
And knew I was in Fairyland. 
And yet one point of being so, 
I lacked. For, Lady (as you know). 
Whoever by his might of hand 
Won entrance into Fairyland, 
Found always with admiring eyes 
A Fairy princess kind and wise. 

It was not long I waited ; soon 
Upon my threshold, in broad noon, 
Fair and helpful, wise and good, 
The Fairy Princess Moe stood. 

Tantira, Tahiti, Nov. 5, 1888. 



233 



XXIX 

TO KALAKAUA 
(IVith the gift of a pearl) 

THE Silver Ship, my King — that was her name 
In the bright islands whence your fathers came- 
The Silver Ship, at rest from winds and tides, 
Below your palace in your harbour rides: 
And the seafarers, sitting safe on shore, 
Like eager merchants count their treasures o'er. 
One gift they fmd, one strange and lovely thing, 
Now doubly precious since it pleased a king. 

The right, my liege, is ancient as the lyre 
For bards to give to kings what kings admire. 
'Tis mine to offer for Apollo's sake; 
And since the gift is fitting, yours to take. 
To golden hands the golden pearl I bring: 
The ocean jewel to the island king. 

Honolulu, Feb. 3, 1889. 



234 



XXX 

TO PRINCESS KAIULANI 

FORTH from her land to mine she goes, 
The island maid, the island rose, 
Light of heart and bright of face : 
The daughter of a double race. 
Her islands here, in Southern sun, 
• Shall mourn their Kaiulani gone. 
And I, in her dear banyan shade, 
Look vainly for my little maid. 

But our Scots islands far away 
Shall glitter with unwonted day, 
And cast for once their tempests by 
To smile in Kaiulani's eye. 

Honolulu. 

Written in April to Kaiulani in the April of her age; and at Waikiki, 
within easy walk of Kaiulani's banyan! When she comes to my land 
and her father's, and the rain beats upon the window (as I fear it will), 
let her look at this page; it will be like a weed gathered and pressed at 
home; and she will remember her own islands, and the shadow of the 
mighty tree; and she will hear the peacocks screaming in the dusk and 
the wind blowing in the palms; and she will think of her father sitting 
there alone. — R. L. S. 



235 



XXXI 



TO MOTHER MARYANNE 



TO see the infinite pity of this place, 
The mangled limb, the devastated face, 
The innocent sufferer smiling at the rod — 
A fool were tempted to deny his God. 
He sees, he shrinks. But if he gaze again, 
Lo, beauty springing from the breast of painl 
He marks the sisters on the mournful shores; 
And even a fool is silent and adores. 

Guest House, Kalawao, Molokai. 



236 



XXXII 

IN MEMORIAM, E. H. 

I KNEW a silver head was bright beyond compare, 
I knew a queen of toil with a crown of silver hair. 
Garland of valour and sorrow, of beauty and renown, 
Life, that honours the brave, crowned her himself with 
the crown. 

The beauties of youth are frail, but this was a jewel of 

age. 
Life, that delights in the brave, gave it himself for a gage. 
Fair was the crown to behold, and beauty its poorest 

part — 
At once the scar of the wound and the order pinned on 

the heart. 

The beauties of man are frail, and the silver lies in the 

dust, 
And the queen that we call to mind sleeps with the 

brave and the just; 
Sleeps with the weary at length ; but honoured and ever 

fair, 
Shines in the eye of the mind the crown of the silver 

hair. 

Honolulu. 



237 



XXXIII 

TO MY WIFE 
(/i Fragment) 

LONG must elapse ere you behold again 
-/ Green forest frame the entry of the lane — 
The wild lane with the bramble and the briar, 
The year-old cart-tracks perfect in the mire, 
The wayside smoke, perchance, the dwarfish huts, 
And ramblers' donkey drinking from the ruts: — 
Long ere you trace how deviously it leads. 
Back from man's chimneys and the bleating meads 
To the woodland shadow, to the silvan hush. 
When but the brooklet chuckles in the brush — 
Back from the sun and bustle of the vale 
To where the great voice of the nightingale 
Fills all the forest like a single room. 
And all the banks smell of the golden broom; 
So wander on until the eve descends. 
And back returning to your firelit friends. 
You see the rosy sun, despoiled of light. 
Hung, caught in thickets, like a schoolboy's kite. 

Here from the sea the unfruitful sun shall rise, 
Bathe the bare deck and blind the unshielded eyes; 

238 



TO MY WIFE 

The allotted hours aloft shall wheel in vain 
And in the unpregnant ocean plunge again. 
Assault of squalls that mock the watchful guard. 
And pluck the husting canvas from the yard, 
And senseless clamour of the calm, at night 
Must mar your slumbers. By the plunging light. 
In beetle-haunted, most unwomanly bower 
Of the wild-swerving cabin, hour by hour . . . 

Schooner Equator. 



2?<i 



XXXIV 

TO THE MUSE 

RESIGN the rhapsody, the dream, 
To men of larger reach ; 
Be ours the quest of a plain theme, 
The piety of speech. 

As monkish scribes from morning break 

Toiled till the close of light, 
Nor thought a day too long to make 

One line or letter bright: 

We also with an ardent mind, 
Time, wealth, and fame forgot, 

Our glory in our patience find 
And skim, and skim the pot: 

Till last, when round the house we hear 

The evensong of birds, 
One corner of blue heaven appear 

In our clear well of words. 

Leave, leave it then, muse of my heart! 

Sans finish and sans frame. 
Leave unadorned by needless art 

The picture as it came. 



Apemama. 



240 



XXXV 

TO MY OLD FAMILIARS 

DO you remember — can we e'er forget? — 
How, in the coiled perplexities of youth, 
In our wild climate, in our scowling town. 
We gloomed and shivered, sorrowed, sobbed and feared ? 
The belching winter wind, the missile rain, 
The rare and welcome silence of the snows. 
The laggard morn, the haggard day, the night, 
The grimy spell of the nocturnal town. 
Do you remember? — Ah, could one forget! 

As when the fevered sick that all night long 
Listed the wind intone, and hear at last 
The ever-welcome voice of chanticleer 
Sing in the bitter hour before the dawn, — 
With sudden ardour, these desire the day : 
So sang in the gloom of youth the bird of hope; 
So we, exulting, hearkened and desired. 
For lo ! as in the palace porch of life 
We huddled with chimeras, from within — 
How sweet to hear! — the music swelled and fell, 
And through the breach of the revolving doors 
What dreams of splendour blinded us and fled! 

241 



UNDERWOODS 

I have since then contended and rejoiced ; 

Amid the glories of the house of life 

Profoundly entered, and the shrine beheld: 

Yet when the lamp from my expiring eyes 

Shall dwindle and recede, the voice of love 

Fall insignificant on my closing ears, 

What sound shall come but the old cry of the wind 

In our inclement city? what return 

But the image of the emptiness of youth, 

Filled with the sound of footsteps and that voice 

Of discontent and rapture and despair? 

So, as in darkness, from the magic lamp, 

The momentary pictures gleam and fade 

And perish, and the night resurges — these 

Shall I remember, and then all forget. 

Apemama, 



242 



XXXVI 

THE tropics vanish, and meseems that I, 
From Halkerside, from topmost Allermuir, 
Or steep Caerketton, dreaming gaze again. 
Far set in fields and woods, the town I see 
Spring gallant from the shallows of her smoke, 
Cragged, spired, and turreted, her virgin fort 
Beflagged. About, on seaward-drooping hills. 
New folds of city glitter. Last, the Forth 
Wheels ample waters set with sacred isles. 
And populous Fife smokes with a score of towns. 

There, on the sunny frontage of a hill, 

Hard by the house of kings, repose the dead. 

My dead, the ready and the strong of word. 

Their works, the salt-encrusted, still survive; 

The sea bombards their founded towers; the night 

Thrills pierced with their strong lamps. The artificers, 

One after one, here in this grated cell. 

Where the rain erases and the rust consumes. 

Fell upon lasting silence. Continents 

And continental oceans intervene; 

A sea uncharted, on a lampless isle, 

243 



UNDERWOODS 

Environs and confines their wandering child 
In vain. The voice of generations dead 
Summons me, sitting distant, to arise. 
My numerous footsteps nimbly to retrace. 
And all mutation over, stretch me down 
In that denoted city of the dead. 



Apemama. 



244 



XXXVII 

TO s. c. 

I HEARD the pulse of the besieging sea 
Throb far away all night. I heard the wind 
Fly crying and convulse tumultuous palms. 
I rose and strolled. The isle was all bright sand, 
And flailing fans and shadows of the palm; 
The heaven all moon and wind and the blind vault; 
The keenest planet slain, for Venus slept. 

The king, my neighbour, with his host of wives, 
Slept in the precinct of the palisade; 
Where single, in the wind, under the moon. 
Among the slumbering cabins, blazed a fire, 
Sole street-lamp and the only sentinel. 

To other lands and nights my fancy turned — 
To London first, and chiefly to your house. 
The many-pillared and the well-beloved. 
There yearning fancy lighted ; there again 
In the upper room I lay, and heard far off 
The unsleeping city murmur like a shell; 
The muffled tramp of the Museum guard 
Once more went by me; I beheld again 
Lamps vainly brighten the dispeopled street; 
Again I longed for the returning morn. 
The awaking traffic, the bestirring birds, 

245 



UNDERWOODS 

The consentaneous trill of tiny song 
That weaves round monumental cornices 
A passing charm of beauty. Most of all, 
For your light foot I wearied, and youf knock 
That was the glad reveille of my day. 

Lo, now, when to your task in the great house 
At morning through the portico you pass, 
One moment glance, where by the pillared wall 
Far-voyaging island gods, begrimed with smoke, 
Sit now unworshipped, the rude monument 
Of faiths forgot and races undivined: 
Sit now disconsolate, remembering well 
The priest, the victim, and the songful crowd, 
The blaze of the blue noon, and that huge voice 
Incessant, of the breakers on the shore. 
As far as these from their ancestral shrine, 
So far, so foreign, your divided friends 
Wander, estranged in body, not in mind. 

Apemama. 



246 



XXXVIII 

THE HOUSE OF TEMBINOKA. 

At my departure from the island of Apemama, for which you will 
look in vain in most atlases, the King and I agreed, since we both set 
up to be in the poetical way, that we should celebrate our separation 
in verse. Whether or not his Majesty has been true to his bargain, the 
laggard posts of the Pacific may perhaps inform me in six months, per- 
haps not before a year. The following lines represent my part of the 
contract, and it is hoped, by their pictures of strange manners, they 
may entertain a civilised audience. Nothing throughout has been in- 
vented or exaggerated; the lady herein referred to as the author's muse 
has confined herself to stringing into rhyme facts or legends that I saw 
or heard during two months' residence upon the island. — R. L. S. 

ENVOI 

ZET US, who part like brothers, part like bards; 
*' And you in your tongue and measure, I in mine. 
Our now division duly solenutise. 
Unlike the strains, and yet the theme is one : 
The strains unlike, and how unlike their fate! 
You to the blinding palace-yard shall call 
The prefect of the singers, and to him. 
Listening devout, your valedictory verse 
Deliver; he, his attribute fulfilled. 
To the island chorus hand your measures on, 

247 



UNDERWOODS 

Wed now with harmony : so them, at last, 
Night after night, in the open hall of dance. 
Shall thirty matted men, to the clapped hand. 
Intone and bray and bark. Unfortunate ! 
Paper and print alone shall honour mine. 

THE SONG 

Let now the King his ear arouse 

And toss the bosky ringlets from his brows, 

The while, our bond to implement, 

My muse relates and praises his descent. 



Bride of the shark, her valour first I sing 
Who on the lone seas quickened of a King. 
She, from the shore and puny homes of men, 
Beyond the climber's sea-discerning ken, 
Swam, led by omens; and devoid of fear, 
Beheld her monstrous paramour draw near. 
She gazed ; all round her to the heavenly pale. 
The simple sea was void of isle or sail — 
Sole overhead the unsparing sun was reared — 
When the deepbubbled and the brute appeared. 
But she, secure in the decrees of fate. 
Made strong her bosom and received the mate. 
And men declare, from that marine embrace 
Conceived the virtues of a stronger race. 

ti 

Her stern descendant next I praise, 
Survivor of a thousand frays: — 
248 



THE HOUSE OF TEMBINOKA 

In the hall of tongues who ruled the throng; 
Led and was trusted by the strong; 
And when spears were in the wood, 
Like a tower of vantage stood : — ■ 
Whom, not till seventy years had sped, 
Unscarred of breast, erect of head, 
Still light of step, still bright of look, 
The hunter. Death, had overtook. 

Ill 

His sons, the brothers twain, I sing, 
Of whom the elder reigned a King, 
No Childeric he, yet much declined 
From his rude sire's imperious mind, 
Until his day came when he died, 
He lived, he reigned, he versified. 
But chiefly him I celebrate 
That was the pillar of the state. 
Ruled, wise of word and bold of mien, 
The peaceful and the warlike scene; 
And played alike the leader's part 
In lawful and unlawful art. 
His soldiers with emboldened ears 
Heard him laugh among the spears. 
He could deduce from age to age 
The web of island parentage; 
Best lay the rhyme, best lead the dance, 
For any festal circumstance : 
And fitly fashion oar and boat, 
A palace or an armour coat. 
None more availed than he to raise 
The strong, suffumigating blaze 
249 



UNDERWOODS 

Or knot the wizard leaf : none more, 
Upon the untrodden windward shore 
Of the isle, beside the beating main. 
To cure the sickly and constrain, 
With muttered words and waving rods. 
The gibbering and the whistling gods. 
But he, though thus with hand and head 
He ruled, commanded, charmed, and led, 
And thus in virtue and in might 
Towered to contemporary sight — 
Still in fraternal faith and love. 
Remained below to reach above, 
Gave and obeyed the apt command. 
Pilot and vassal of the land. 

IV 

My Tembinok, from men like these 
Inherited his palaces, 
His right to rule, his powers of mind, 
His cocoa-islands sea-enshrined. 
Stern bearer of the sword and whip, 
A master passed in mastership, 
He learned, without the spur of need, 
To write, to cipher, and to read ; 
From all that touch on his prone shore 
Augments his treasury of lore, 
Eager in age as erst in youth 
To catch an art, to learn a truth, 
To paint on the internal page 
A clearer picture of the age. 
His age, you say ? But ah, not so! 
In his lone isle of long ago, 
250 



THE HOUSE OF TEMBINOKA 

A royal Lady of Shalott, 

Sea-sundered, he beholds it not; 

He only hears it far away. 

The stress of equatorial day 

He suffers ; he records the while 

The vapid annals of the isle; 

Slaves bring him praise of his renown, 

Or cackle of the palm-tree town ; 

The rarer ship and the rare boat, 

He marks; and only hears remote. 

Where thrones and fortunes rise and reel. 

The thunder of the turning wheel. 



For the unexpected tears he shed 

At my departing, may his lion head 

Not whiten, his revolving years 

No fresh occasion minister of tears; 

At book or cards, at work or sport, 

Him may the breeze across the palace court 

For ever fan ; and swelling near 

For ever the loud song divert his ear. 

Schooner Equator, at Sea. 



251 



XXXIX 

THE WOODMAN 

IN all the grove, nor stream nor bird 
Nor aught beside my blows was heard, 
And the woods wore their noonday dress — 
The glory of their silentness. 
From the island summit to the seas, 
Trees mounted, and trees drooped, and trees 
Groped upward in the gaps. The green 
Inarboured talus and ravine 
By fathoms. By the multitude 
The rugged columns of the wood 
And bunches of the branches stood: 
Thick as a mob, deep as a sea, 
And silent as eternity. 

With lowered axe, with backward head. 
Late from this scene my labourer fled, 
And with a ravelled tale to tell, 
Returned. Some denizen of hell, 
Dead man or disinvested god, 
Had close behind him peered and trod, 
And triumphed when he turned to flee. 
How different fell the lines with me! 
Whose eye explored the dim arcade 
Impatient of the uncoming shade — • 

2^2 



THE WOODMAN 

Shy elf, or dryad pale and cold, 
Or mystic lingerer from of old: 
Vainly. The fair and stately things, 
Impassive as departed kings, 
All still in the wood's stillness stood. 
And dumb. The rooted multitude 
Nodded and brooded, bloomed and dreamed, 
Unmeaning, undivined. It seemed 
^No other art, no hope, they knew, 
Than clutch the earth and seek the blue. 

Mid vegetable king and priest 
And stripling, I (the only beast) 
Was at the beast's work, killing; hewed 
The stubborn roots across, bestrewed 
The glebe with the dislustred leaves, 
And bid the saplings fall in sheaves; 
Bursting across the tangled math 
A ruin that 1 called a path, 
A Golgotha that, later on. 
When rains had watered, and suns shone. 
And seeds enriched the place, should bear 
And be called garden. Here and there, 
I spied and plucked by the green hair 
A foe more resolute to live, 
The toothed and killing sensitive. 
He, semi-conscious, fled the attack; 
He shrank and tucked his branches back; 
And straining by his anchor strand, 
Captured and scratched the rooting hand. 
I saw him crouch, I felt him bite ; 
And straight my eyes were touched with sight 

253 



UNDERWOODS 

I saw the wood for what it was: 
The lost and the victorious cause, 
The deadly battle pitched in line, 
Saw silent weapons cross and shine: 
Silent defeat, silent assault, 
A battle and a burial vault. 

Thick round me in the teeming mud 

Briar and fern strove to the blood. 

The hooked liana in his gin 

Noosed his reluctant neighbours in: 

There the green murderer throve and spread. 

Upon his smothering victims fed. 

And wantoned on his climbing coil. 

Contending roots fought for the soil 

Like frightened demons: with despair 

Competing branches pushed for air. 

Green conquerors from overhead 

Bestrode the bodies of their dead: 

The Caesars of the silvan field. 

Unused to fail, foredoomed to yield: 

For in the groins of branches, lol 

The cancers of the orchid grow. 

Silent as in the listed ring 
Two chartered wrestlers strain and cling. 
Dumb as by yellow Hooghly's side 
The suffocating captives died : 
So hushed the woodland warfare goes 
Unceasing; and the silent foes 
Grapple and smother, strain and clasp 
Without a cry, without a gasp. 

254 



THE WOODMAN 

Here also sound thy fans, O God, 
Here too thy banners move abroad: 
Forest and city, sea and shore. 
And the whole earth, thy threshing-floor! 
The drums of war, the drums of peace. 
Roll through our cities without cease, 
And all the iron halls of life 
Ring with the unremitting strife. 



The common lot we scarce perceive. 
Crowds perish, we nor mark nor grieve: 
The bugle calls — we mourn a few! j 
What corporal's guard at Waterloo ? 
What scanty hundreds more or less 
In the man-devouring Wilderness ? 
What handful bled on Delhi ridge ? 
— See, rather, London, on thy bridge 
The pale battalions trample by. 
Resolved to slay, resigned to die. 
Count, rather, all the maimed and dead 
In the unbrotherly war of bread. 
See, rather, under sultrier skies 
What vegetable Londons rise. 
And teem, and suffer without sound. 
Or in your tranquil garden ground. 
Contented, in the falling gloom, 
Saunter and see the roses bloom. 
That these might live, what thousands died I 
All day the cruel hoe was plied ; 
The ambulance barrow rolled all day; 
Your wife, the tender, kind, and gay, 

aS5 



UNDERWOODS 

Donned her long gauntlets, caught the spud 
And bathed in vegetable blood ; 
And the long massacre now at end, 
See! where the lazy coils ascend, 
See, where the bonfire sputters red 
At even, for the innocent dead. 

Why prate of peace ? when, warriors all. 

We clank in harness into hall. 

And ever bare upon the board 

Lies the necessary sword. 

In the green field or quiet street, 

Besieged we sleep, beleaguered eat. 

Labour by day and wake o' nights. 

In war with rival appetites. 

The rose on roses feeds ; the lark 

On larks. The sedentary clerk 

All morning with a diligent pen 

Murders the babes of other men; 

And like the beasts of wood and park, 

Protects his whelps, defends his den. 

Unshamed the narrow aim I hold; 
I feed my sheep, patrol my fold ; 
Breathe war on wolves and rival flocks, 
A pious outlaw on the rocks 
Of God and morning; and when time 
Shall bow, or rivals break me, climb 
Where no undubbed civilian dares. 
In my war harness, the loud stairs 
Of honour; and my conqueror 
Hail me a warrior fallen in war. 

Vailima 

256 



XL 

TROPIC RAIN 

AS the single pang of the blow, when the metal is 
/v mingled well, 
Rings and lives and resounds in all the bounds of the 

bell: 
So the thunder above spoke with a single tongue, 
So in the heart of the mountain the sound of it rumbled 

and clung. 

Sudden the thunder was drowned — quenched was the 

levin light . . . 
And the angel-spirit of rain laughed out loud in the 

night. 

f Loud as the maddened river raves in the cloven glen, 
I Angel of rain ! you laughed and leaped on the roofs of 

men; 
And the sleepers sprang in their beds, and joyed and 

feared as you fell. 
You struck, and my cabin quailed ; the roof of it roared 

like a bell. 
You spoke, and at once the mountain shouted and shook 

with brooks. 
You ceased, and the day returned, rosy, with virgin 

looks. 

257 



UNDERWOODS 

And methought that beauty and terror are only one, nof 
two; 

And the world has room for love, and death, and thun- 
der, and dew; 

And all the sinews of hell slumber in summer air; 

And the face of God is a rock, but the face of the rock 
is fair. 

Beneficent streams of tears flow at the finger of pain; 

And out of the cloud that smites, beneficent rivers of 
rain. 

Vailima. 



• XLI 

AN END OF TRAVEL 

IET now your soul in this substantial world 
^ Some anchor strike. Be here the body moored; 
This spectacle immutably from now 
The picture in your eye; and when time strikes, 
And the green scene goes on the instant blind, 
The ultimate helpers, where your horse to-day 
Conveyed you dreaming, bear your body dead. 

Vailima. 



*59 



XLII 

WE uncommiserate pass into the night 
From the loud banquet, and departing leave 
A tremor in men's memories, faint and sweet 
And frail as music. Features of our face. 
The tones of the voice, the touch of the loved hand, 
Perish and vanish, one by one, from earth : 
Meanwhile, in the hall of song, the multitude 
Applauds the new performer. One, perchance. 
One ultimate survivor lingers on, 
And smiles, and to his ancient heart recalls 
The long forgotten. Ere the morrow die. 
He too, returning, through the curtain comes, 
And the new age forgets us and goes on. 



'ih^i 



XLIII 

THE LAST SIGHT 

ONCE more I saw him. In the lofty room, 
Where oft with lights and company his tongue 
Was trump to honest laughter, sate attired 
A something in his likeness. — "Look!" said one. 
Unkindly kind, " look up, it is your boy ! " 
And the dread changeling gazed on me in vain. 



261 



XLIV 

SING me a song of a lad that is gone, 
Say, could that lad be I ? 
Merry of soul he sailed on a day 
Over the sea to Skye. 

Mull was astern, Rum on the port. 

Egg on the starboard bow; 
Glory of youth glowed in his soul: 

Where is that glory now ? 

Sing me a song of a lad that is gone. 

Say, could that lad be I ? 
Merry of soul he sailed on a day 

Over the sea to Skye. 

Give me again all that was there. 
Give me the sun that shone! 

Give me the eyes, give me the soul. 
Give me the lad that's gone! 

Sing me a song of a lad that is gone. 

Say, could that lad be I ? 
Merry of soul he sailed on a day 

Over the sea to Skye. 
262 



SING ME A SONG 



Billow and breeze, islands and seas, 
Mountains of rain and sun, 

All that was good, all that was fair. 
All that was me is gone. 



16^ 



XLV 

TO S. R. CROCKETT 
(In Reply to a Dedication) 

BLOWS the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain 
are flying, 
Blows the wind on the moors to-day and now. 
Where about the graves of the martyrs the whaups are 

crying, ||||| 

My heart remembers how! '™'" 

Grey recumbent tombs of the dead in desert places, 
Standing stones on the vacant wine-red moor, 

Hills of sheep, and the homes of the silent vanished 
races. 
And winds, austere and pure: 

Be it granted me to behold you again in dying, 

Hills of home! and to hear again the call; 
Hear about the graves of the martyrs the peewees 
crying. 

And hear no more at all. 

Vaiuma. 



364 



XLVI 

EVENSONG 

THE embers of the day are red 
Beyond the murky hill. 
The kitchen smokes: the bed 
In the darkling house is spread: 
The great sky darkens overhead, 
And the great woods are shrill. 
So far have I been led, 
Lord, by Thy v^ill: 
So far I have followed, Lord, and wondered still 

The breeze from the embalmed land 
Blows sudden toward the shore, 
And claps my cottage door. 
1 hear the signal, Lord — I understand. 
The night at Thy command 
Comes. I will eat and sleep and will not ques- 
tion more. 



Vailima. 



265 



POEMS POSTHUMOUSLY PUBLISHED 



A MARTIAL ELEGY FOR SOME LEAD SOLDIERS 



FOR certain soldiers lately dead 
Our reverent dirge shall here be said. 
Them, when their martial leader called, 
No dread preparative appalled ; 
But leaden-hearted, leaden-heeled, 
I marked them steadfast in the field. 
Death grimly sided with the foe. 
And smote each leaden hero low. 
Proudly they perished, one by one: 
The dread Pea-cannon's work was done! 
O not for them the tears we shed. 
Consigned to their congenial lead ; 
But while unmoved their sleep they take, 
We mourn for their dear Captain's sake. 
For their dear Captain, who shall smart 
Both in his pocket and his heart, 
Who saw his heroes shed their gore 
And lacked a shilling to buy more! 



269 



VERSES WRITTEN IN 1872 



THOUGH he that ever kind and true, 
Kept stoutly step by step with you 
Your whole long gusty lifetime through 

Be gone awhile before, 
Be now a moment gone before, 
Yet, doubt not, soon the seasons shall restore 
Your friend to you. 

He has but turned a corner — still 
He pushes on with right good will. 
Thro' mire and marsh, by heugh and hill 

That self-same arduous way, — 
That self-same upland hopeful way, 
■That you and he through many a doubtful day 

Attempted still. 



He is not dead, this friend — not dead 
But in the path we mortals tread, 
Got some few, trifling steps ahead, 

And nearer to the end. 
So that you, too, once past the bend. 
Shall meet again, as face to face this friend 

You fancy dead. 
270 



VERSES WRITTEN IN 1 872 

Push gayly on, strong heart ! The while 
You travel forward mile by mile, 
He loiters with a backward smile 

Till you can overtake. 
And strains his eyes, to search his wake 
Or, whistling, as he sees you through the brake, 

Waits on a stile / 



271 



TO H. C. BUNNER 

YOU know the way to Arcady 
Where 1 was born; 
You have been there, and fain 
Would there return. 
Some that go thither bring with them 
Red rose or jewelled diadem 
As secrets of the secret king : 
I, only what a child would bring. 
Yet I do think my song is true; 
For this is how the children do ; 
This is the tune to which'they go 
In sunny pastures high and low ; 
The treble pipes not otherwise 
Sing daily under sunny skies 
In Arcady the dear ; 
And you who have been there before, 
And love that country evermore, 
May not disdain to hear. 



■flHr I 



272 



FROM WISHING-LAND 



DEAR Lady, tapping at your door, 
Some little verses stand, 
And beg on this auspicious day 
To come and kiss your hand. 

Their syllables all counted right 
Their rhymes each in its place. 

Like birthday children, at the door 
They wait to see your face. 

Rise, lady, rise and let them in ; 

Fresh from the fairy shore. 
They bring you things you wish to have, 

Each in its pinafore. 

For they have been to Wishing-land 

This morning in the dew, 
And all your dearest wishes bring — 

All granted — home to you. 

What these may be, they would not tell, 
And could not if they would ; 

They take the packets sealed to you 
As trusty servants should. 
273 



FROM WISHING-LAND 

But there was one that looked like love, 
And one that smelt like health, 

And one that had a jingling sound — 
I fancy it might be wealth. 

Ah, well, they are but wishes still ; 

But, lady dear, for you 
I know that all you wish is kind, 

I pray it all come true. 






274 



BALLADS 



I 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 



TO ORI A ORI. 

Ori, my brother in the island mode. 

In every tongue and meaning much my friend. 

This story of your country and your clan. 

In your loved house, your too much honoured guest, 

I made in English. Take it, being dene ; 

And let me sign it with the name you gave. 

Teriiteka. 



II 



THE SOMG OF RAHERO: 

A LEGEND OF TAHITI 

« I. THE SLAYING OF TAMATEA 

IT fell in the days of old, as the men of Taiarapu tell, 
A youth went forth to the fishing, and fortune fa- 
voured him well. 
Tamatea his name: gullible, simple, and kind. 
Comely of countenance, nimble of body, empty of mind, 
His mother ruled him and loved him beyond the wont 

of a wife. 
Serving the lad for eyes and living herself in his life. 

Alone from the sea and the fishing came Tamatea the 

fair, 
Urging his boat to the beach, and the mother awaited 

him there, 
— "Long may you live! " said she. "Your fishing has 

sped to a wish. 
And now let us choose for the king the fairest of all lo 

your fish. 
For fear inhabits the palace and grudging grows in the 

land. 
Marked is the sluggardly foot and marked the niggardly 

hand, 

279 



BALLADS 

The hours and the miles are counted, the tributes num- 
bered and weighed, 

And woe to him that comes short, and woe to him that 
delayed!" 

So spoke on the beach the mother, and counselled the 
wiser thing. 

For Rahero stirred in the country and secretly mined the 
king. 

Nor were the signals wanting of how the leaven 
wrought, 

In the cords of obedience loosed and the tributes grudg- 
ingly brought. 

And when last to the temple of Oro the boat with the 
victim sped, 
20 And the priest uncovered the basket and looked on the 
face of the dead. 

Trembling fell upon all at sight of an ominous thing, 

For there was the aito^ dead, and he of the house of the 
king. 



So spake on the beach the mother, matter worthy of 

note, 
And wattled a basket well, and chose a fish from the 

boat; 
And Tamatea the pliable shouldered the basket and went. 
And travelled, and sang as he travelled, a lad that was 

well content. 
Still the way of his going was round by the roaring 

coast. 
Where the ring of the reef is broke and the trades run 

riot the most. 

280 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

On his left, with smoke as of battle, the billows battered 

the land; 
Unscalable, turretted mountains rose on the inner hand. 30 
And cape, and village, and river, and vale, and moun- 
tain above, 
Each had a name in the land for men to remember and 

love; 
And never the name of a place, but lo! a song in its 

praise: 
Ancient and unforgotten, songs of the earlier days. 
That the elders taught to the young, and at night, in 

the full of the moon. 
Garlanded boys and maidens sang together in tune. 
Tamatea the placable went with a lingering foot; 
He sang as loud as a bird, he whistled hoarse as a flute; 
He broiled in the sun, he breathed in the grateful shadow 

of trees. 
In the icy stream of the rivers he waded over the knees; 40 
And still in his empty mind crowded, a thousand-fold. 
The deeds of the strong and the songs of the cunning 

heroes of old. 

And now was he come to a place Taiarapu honoured 

the most, 
Where a silent valley of woods debouched on the noisy 

coast. 
Spewing a level river. There was a haunt of Pai.^ 
There, in his potent youth, when his parents drove him 

to die, 
Honoura lived like a beast, lacking the lamp and the fire, 
Washed by the rains of the trade and clotting his hair 

in the mire; 

281 




BALLADS 

And there, so mighty his hands, he bent the tree to his 

foot — 
50 So keen the spur of his hunger, he plucked it naked of 

fruit. 
There, as she pondered the clouds for the shadow of 

coming ills, 
Ahupu, the woman of song, walked on high on the 

hills. 

Of these was Rahero sprung, a man of a godly race ; 
And inherited cunning of spirit and beauty of body and 

face. 
Of yore in his youth, as an aito, Rahero wandered the 

land. 
Delighting maids with his tongue, smiting men with his 

hand. 
Famous he was in his youth ; but before the midst of 

his life 
Paused, and fashioned a song of farewell to glory and 

strife. 

House of mine (it went), house upon the sea, 
60 Belov'd of all my fathers, more belov'd by me! 
Vale of the strong Honour a, deep ravine of Pai, 
Again in your woody summits I hear the trade-wind cry. 

Home of mine, in your walls, strong sounds the sea. 

Of all sounds on earth, dearest sound to me. 

I have heard the applause of men, I have heard it arise 

and die : 
Sweeter now in my house I hear the trade-wind cry. 

282 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

These were the words of his singing, other the thought 

of his heart; 
For secret desire of glory vexed him, dwelling apart. 
Lazy and crafty he was, and loved to lie in the sun, 
And loved the cackle of talk and the true word uttered 70 

in fun ; 
Lazy he was, his roof was ragged, his table was lean, 
And the fish swam safe in his sea, and he gathered the 

near,and the green. 
He sat in his house and laughed, but he loathed the 

king of the land, 
And he uttered the grudging word under the covering 

hand. 
Treason spread from his door; and he looked for a day 

to come, 
A day of the crowding people, a day of the summoning 

drum, 
When the vote should be taken, the king be driven 

forth in disgrace, 
And Rahero, the laughing and lazy, sit and rule in his 

place. 
Here Tamatea came, and beheld the house on the 

brook; 
And Rahero was there by the way and covered an oven 80 

to cook.3 
Naked he was to the loins, but the tattoo covered the 

lack. 
And the sun and the shadow of palms dappled his mus- 
cular back. 
Swiftly he lifted his head at the fall of the coming feet, 
And the water sprang in his mouth with a sudden de- 
sire of meat; 

283 



BALLADS 

For he marked the basket carried, covered from flies 

and the sun;* 
And Rahero buried his fire, but the meat in his house 

was done. 

Forth he stepped ; and took, and delayed the boy, by the 

hand; 
And vaunted the joys of meat and the ancient ways of 

the land : 
— "Our sires of old in Taiarapu, they that created the 

race, 
90 Ate ever with eager hand, nor regarded season or place, 
Ate in the boat at the oar, on the way afoot; and at night 
Arose in the midst of dreams to rummage the house for 

a bite. 
It is good for the youth in his turn to follow the way of 

the sire; 
And behold how fitting the time! for here do I cover 

my fire." 
— "I see the fire for the cooking but never the meat to 

cook," 
Said Tamatea. — "Tut!" said Rahero. "Here in the 

brook 
And there in the tumbling sea, the fishes are thick as flies. 
Hungry like healthy men, and like pigs for savour and 

size: 
Crayfish crowding the river, sea-fish thronging the sea." 
100 — "Well it may be," says the other, "and yet be noth- 
ing to me. 
Fain would I eat, but alas ! I have needful matter in hand, 
Since I carry my tribute of fish to the jealous king of 

the land." 

284 



I 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

Now at the word a light sprang in Rahero's eyes. 

"I will gain me a dinner," thought he, "and lend the 

king a surprise." 
And he took the lad by the arm, as they stood by the 

side of the track, 
And smiled, and rallied, and flattered, and pushed him 

forward and back. 
It was "You that sing like a bird, I never have heard 

you sing," 
And "The lads when I was a lad were none so feared 

of a king. 
And of what account is an hour, when the heart is 

empty of guile ? 
But come, and sit in the house and laugh with the r.o 

women awhile; 
And I will but drop my hook, and behold! the dinner 

made." 



So Tamatea the pliable hung up his fish in the shade 
On a tree by the side of the way; and Rahero carried 

him in, 
Smiling as smiles the fowler when flutters the bird to 

the gin, 
And chose him a shining hook,^ and viewed it with 

sedulous eye. 
And breathed and burnished it well on the brawn of 

his naked thigh. 
And set a mat for the gull, and bade him be merry and 

bide. 
Like a man concerned for his guest, and the fishing, and 

nothing beside. 

28s 



BALLADS 

Now when Rahero was forth, he paused and heark- 
ened, and heard 
120 The gull jest in the house and the women laugh at his 
word; 

And stealthily crossed to the side of the way, to the shady 
place 

Where the basket hung on a mango ; and craft transfig- 
ured his face. 

Deftly he opened the basket, and took of the fat of the 
fish, 

The cut of kings and chieftains, enough for a goodly dish. 

This he wrapped in a leaf, set on the fire to cook 

And buried ; and next the marred remains of the tribute 
he took. 

And doubled and packed them well, and covered the 
basket close 

— "There is a buffet, my king," quoth he, "and a nau- 
seous dose! " — 

And hung the basket again in the shade, in a cloud of 
flies 
130 — "And there is a sauce to your dinner, king of the 
crafty eyes!" 



Soon as the oven was open, the fish smelt excellent 

good. 
In the shade, by the house of Rahero, down they sat to 

their food, 
And cleared the leaves ® in silence, or uttered a jeat and 

laughed, 
And raising the cocoanut bowls, buried their faces and 

quaffed. 

286 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

But chiefly in silence they ate; and soon as the meal 

was done, 
Rahero feigned to remember and measured the hour by 

the sun, 
And "Tamatea," quoth he, "it is time to be jogging, 

my lad." 

So Tamatea arose, doing ever the thing he was bade, 
And carelessly shouldered the basket, and kindly saluted 

his host; 
And again the way of his going was round by the roar- 140 

ing coast. 
Long he went; and at length was aware of a pleasant 

green, 
And the stems and shadows of palms, and roofs of 

lodges between. 
There sate, in the door of his palace, the king on a kingly 

seat, 
And aitos stood armed around, and the yottowas ' sat 

at his feet. 
But fear was a worm in his heart : fear darted his eyes ; 
And he probed men's faces for treasons and pondered 

their speech for lies. 
To him came Tamatea, the basket slung in his hand, 
And paid him the due obeisance standing as vassals 

stand. 
In silence hearkened the king, and closed the eyes in 

his face. 
Harbouring odious thoughts and the baseless fears of 150 

the base; 
In silence accepted the gift and sent the giver away. 
So Tamatea departed, turning his back on the day. 

287 



BALLADS 

And lo! as the king sat brooding, a rumor rose in the 

crowd; 
The yottowas nudged and whispered, the commons 

murmured aloud; 
Tittering fell upon all at sight of the impudent thing, 
At the sight of a gift unroyal flung in the face of a 

king. 
And the face of the king turned white and red with 

anger and shame 
In their midst; and the heart in his body was water and 

then was flame; 
Till of a sudden, turning, he gripped an aito hard, 
i6o A youth that stood with his omare,^ one of the daily 

guard. 
And spat in his ear a command, and pointed and uttered 

a name, 
And hid in the shade of the house his impotent anger 

and shame. 

Now Tamatea the fool was far on the homeward way, 
The rising night in his face, behind him the dying 

day. 
Rahero saw him go by, and the heart of Rahero was 

glad. 
Devising shame to the king and nowise harm to the lad ; 
And all that dwelt by the way saw and saluted him 

well. 
For he had the face of a friend and the news of the town 

to tell; 
And pleased with the notice of folk, and pleased that his 

journey was done, 
170 Tamatea drew homeward, turning his back to the sun. 

288 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

And now was the hour of the bath in Taiarapu ; far and 

near 
The lovely laughter of bathers rose and delighted his 

ear. 
Night massed in the valleys; the sun on the mountain 

coast 
Struck, end-long; and above the clouds embattled their 

host, 
And glowed and gloomed on the heights; and the heads 

of the palms were gems. 
And far to the rising eve extended the shade of theif 

stems; 
And the shadow of Tamatea hovered already at home. 

And sudden the sound of one coming and running light 

as the foam 
Struck on his ear; and he turned, and lo! a man on his 

track, 
Girded and armed with an omare, following hard at his i8o 

back. 
At a bound the man was upon him; — and, or ever a 

word was said, 
The loaded end of the 6mare fell and laid him dead. 



11. THE VENGING OF TAMATEA 

Thus was Rahero's treason; thus and no further it sped: 
The king sat safe in his place and a kindly fool was dead. 

But the mother of Tamatea arose with death in her eyes. 
All night long, and the next, Taiarapu rang with her 

cries. 

289 



BALLADS 



As when a babe in the wood turns with a chill of doubt 
And perceives nor home, nor friends, for the trees have 

closed her about, 
The mountain rings and her breast is torn with the 

voice of despair: 
190 So the lion-like woman idly wearied the air 

For awhile, and pierced men's hearing in vain, and 

wounded their hearts. 
But as when the weather changes at sea, in dangerous 

parts. 
And sudden the hurricane wrack unrolls up the front of 

the sky, 
At once the ship lies idle, the sails hang silent on high, 
The breath of the wind that blew is blown out like the 

flame of a lamp, 
And the silent armies of death draw near with inaudible 

tramp: 
So sudden, the voice of her weeping ceased; in silence 

she rose 
And passed from the house of her sorrow, a woman 

clothed with repose. 
Carrying death in her breast and sharpening death with 

her hand. 

200 Hither she went and thither in all the coasts of the land. 
They tell that she feared not to slumber alone, in the 

dead of night. 
In accursed places; beheld, unblenched, the ribbon of 

light 9 
Spin from temple to temple; guided the perilous skiff. 
Abhorred not the paths of the mountain and trod the 

verge of the cliff ; 

200 



1 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

From end to end of the island, thought not the distance 

long, 
But forth from king to king carried the tale of her wrong. 
To king after king, as they sat in the palace door, she 

came, 
Claiming kinship, declaiming verses, naming her name 
And the names of all of her fathers; and still, with a 

heart on the rack. 
Jested to capture a hearing and laughed when they jested 210 

back: 
So would deceive them awhile, and change and return 

in a breath, 
And on all the men of Vaiau imprecate instant death ; 
And tempt her kings — for Vaiau was a rich and pros- 
perous land. 
And flatter — for who would attempt it but warriors 

mighty of hand ? 
And change in a breath again and rise in a strain of song, 
Invoking the beaten drums, beholding the fall of the 

strong, 
Calling the fowls of the air to come and feast on the dead. 
And they held the chin in silence, and heard her, and 

shook the head; 
For they knew the men of Taiarapu famous in battle 

and feast. 
Marvellous eaters and smiters: the men of Vaiau not 220 

least. 

To the land of the Namunu-ura,i<' to Paea, at length she 

came. 
To men who were foes to the Tevas and hated their 

race and name. 

2QJ 



BALLADS 

There was she well received, and spoke with Hiopa 

the king," 
And Hiopa listened, and weighed, and wisely considered 

the thing. 
"Here in the back of the isle we dwell in a sheltered 

place," 
Quoth he to the woman, "in quiet, a weak and peace- 
able race. 
But far in the teeth of the wind lofty Taiarapu lies; 
Strong blows the wind of the trade on its seaward face, 

and cries 
Aloud in the top of arduous mountains, and utters its 

song 
230 In green continuous forests. Strong is the wind, and 

strong 
And fruitful and hardy the race, famous in battle and 

feast, 
Marvellous eaters and smiters: the men of Vaiau not 

least. 
Now hearken to me, my daughter, and hear a word of 

the wise: 
How a strength goes linked with a weakness, two by 

two, like the eyes. 
They can wield the omare well and cast the javelin far; 
Yet are they greedy and weak as the swine and the 

children are. 
Plant we, then, here at Paea, a garden of excellent 

fruits ; 
Plant we bananas and kava and taro, the king of roots; 
Let the pigs in Paea be tapu^^ ^Lud no man fish for a 

year; 
240 And of all the meat in Tahiti gather we threefold here. 

292 



« 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

So shall the fame of our plenty fill the island, and so, 
At last, on the tongue of rumor, go where we wish it 

to go. 
Then shall the pigs of Taiarapu raise their snouts in the 

air; 
But we sit quiet and wait, as the fowler sits by the 

snare. 
And tranquilly fold our hands, till the pigs come nosing 

the food : 
But meanwhile build us a house of Trotea, the stubborn 

wood. 
Bind it with incombustible thongs, set a roof to the 

room. 
Too strong for the hands of a man to dissever or fire to 

consume; 
And there, when the pigs come trotting, there shall the 

feast be spread. 
There shall the eye of the morn enlighten the feasters 25a 

dead. 
So be it done; for I have a heart that pities your 

state. 
And Nateva and Namunu-ura are fire and water for 

hate." 

All was done as he said, and the gardens prospered; 

and now 
The fame of their plenty went out, and word of it came 

to Vaiau. 
For the men of Namunu-ura sailed, to the windward 

far, 
Lay in the offmg by south where the. towns of the 

Tevas are, 

293 



BALLADS 

And cast overboard of their plenty; and lo! at the Te- 

vas' feet 
The surf on all of the beaches tumbled treasures of meat. 
In the salt of the sea, a harvest tossed with the refluent 

foam; 
260 And the children gleaned it in playing, and ate and car- 
ried it home; 
And the elders stared and debated, and wondered and 

passed the jest. 
But whenever a guest came by eagerly questioned the 

guest ; 
And little by little, from one to another, the word went 

round: 
" In all the borders of Paea the victual rots on the ground, 
And swine are plenty as rats. .And now, when they 

fare to the sea. 
The men of the Namunu-ura glean from under the tree 
And load the canoe to the gunwale with all that is 

toothsome to eat; 
And all day long on the sea the jaws are crushing the 

meat. 
The steersman eats at the helm, the rowers munch at 

the oar, 
270 And at length, when their bellies are full, overboard with 

the store!" 
Now was the word made true, and soon as the bait 

was bare, 
AH the pigs of Taiarapu raised their snouts in the air. 
Songs were recited, and kinship was counted, and tales 

were told 
How war had severed of late but peace had cemented 

of old 

294 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

The clans of the island. "To war," said they, "now 

set we an end, 
And hie to the Namunu-ura even as a friend to a friend." 

So judged, and a day was named; and soon as the 

morning broke, 
Canoes were thrust in the sea and the houses emptied 

of folk. 
Strong blew the wind of the south, the wind that gath- 

er$ the clan ; 
Along all the line of the reef the clamorous surges ran; 280 
And the clouds were piled on the top of the island moun- 
tain-high, 
A mountain throned on a mountain. The fleet of canoes 

swept by 
In the midst, on the green lagoon, with a crew released 

from care, 
Sailing an even water, breathing a summer air. 
Cheered by a cloudless sun ; and ever to left and right. 
Bursting surge on the reef, drenching storms on the 

height. 
So the folk of Vaiau sailed and were glad all day, 
Coasting the palm-tree cape and crossing the populous 

bay 
By all the towns of the Tevas; and still as they bowled 

along, 
Boat would answer to boat with jest and laughter and 290 

song. 
And the people of all the towns trooped to the sides of 

the sea 
And gazed from under the hand or sprang aloft on the 

tree, 

295 



BALLADS 

Hailing and cheering. Time failed them for more to do", 
The holiday village careened to the wind, and was gone 

from view 
Swift as a passing bird; and ever' as onward it bore, 
Like the cry of the passing bird, bequeathed its song to 

the shore — • 
Desirable laughter of maids and the cry of delight of the 

child. 
And the gazer, left behind, stared at the wake and 

smiled. 

By all the towns of the Tevas they went, and Papara 
last, 
300 The home of the chief, the place of muster in war; and 
passed 

The march of the lands of the clan, to the lands of an 
alien folk. 

And there, from the dusk of the shoreside palms, a col- 
umn of smoke 

Mounted and wavered and died in the gold of the setting 
sun, 

"Paea!" they cried. "It is Paea." And so was the 
voyage done. 

In the early fall of the night, Hiopa came to the shore. 
And beheld and counted the comers, and lo, they were 

forty score: 
The pelting feet of the babes that ran already and played. 
The clean-lipped smile of the boy, the slender breasts 

of the maid. 
And mighty limbs of women, stalwart mothers of men. 
?io The sires stood forth unabashed; but a little back from 

his ken 

296 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

Clustered the scarcely nubile, the lads and maids, in a ring, 
Fain of each other, afraid of themselves, aware of the king 
And aping behaviour, but clinging together with hands 

and eyes. 
With looks that were kind like kisses, and laughter 

tender as sighs. 
There, too, the grandsire stood, raising his silver crest. 
And the impotent hands of a suckling groped in his 

barren breast. 
The childhood of love, the pair well married, the inno- 
cent brood; 
The tale of the generations repeated and ever renewed — 
Hiopa beheld them together, all the ages of man, 
And a moment shook in his purpose. 32G 

But these were the foes of his clan, 
And he trod upon pity, and came, and civilly greeted 

the king. 
And gravely entreated Rahero; and for all that could 

fight or sing. 
And claimed a name in the land, had fitting phrases of 

praise; 
But with all who were well-descended he spoke of the 

ancient days. 
And " 'Tis true," said he, "that in Paea the victual rots 

on the ground; 
But, friends, your number is many; and pigs must be 

hunted and found. 
And the lads troop to the mountains to bring the feis 

down, 
And around the bowls of the kava cluster the maids of 

the town. 

297 



BALLADS 

330 So, for to-night, sleep here; but king, common, and 

priest 
To-morrow, in order due, shall sit with me in the 

feast." 
Sleepless the live-long night, Hiopa's followers toiled. 
The pigs screamed and were slaughtered; the spars of 

the guest-house Oiled, 
The leaves spread on the floor. In many a mountain 

glen 
The moon drew shadows of trees on the naked bodies 

of men 
Plucking and bearing fruits ; and in all the bounds of the 

town 
Red glowed the cocoanut fires, and were buried and 

trodden down. 
Thus did seven of the yottowas toil with their tale of 

the clan. 
But the eighth wrought with his lads, hid from the 

sight of man. 
340 In the deeps of the woods they laboured, piling the fuel 

high 
In fagots, the load of a man, fuel seasoned and dry, 
Thirsty to seize upon fire and apt to blurt into flame. 

And now was the day of the feast. The forests, as 
morning came. 

Tossed in the wind, and the peaks quaked in the blaze 
of the day 

And the cocoanuts showered on the ground, rebound- 
ing and rolling away: 

A glorious morn for a feast, a famous wind for a fire. 

To the hall of feasting Hiopa led them, mother and sire 

298 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

And maid and babe in a tale, the whole of the holiday 

throng. 
Smiling they came, garlanded green, not dreaming of 

wrong; 
And for every three, a pig, tenderly cooked in the 350 

ground. 
Waited ; and fei, the staff of life, heaped in a mound 
For each where he sat; — for each, bananas roasted and 

raw 
Piled with a bountiful hand, as for horses hay and straw 
Are stacked in a stable; and fish, the food of desire,^^ 
And plentiful vessels of sauce, and breadfruit gilt in the 

fire; — 
And kava was common as water. Feasts have there 

been ere now. 
And many, but never a feast like that of the folk of Vaiau. 

All day long they ate with the resolute greed of brutes, 
And turned from the pigs to the fish, and again from 

the fish to the fruits, 
And emptied the vessels of sauce, and drank of the kava 360 

deep; 
Till the young lay stupid as stones, and the strongest 

nodded to sleep. 
Sleep that was mighty as death and blind as a moonless 

night 
Tethered them hand and foot; and their souls were 

drowned, and the light 
Was cloaked from their eyes. Senseless together, the 

old and the young. 
The fighter deadly to smite and the prater cunning of 

tongue, 

299 



BALLADS 

The woman wedded and fruitful, inured to the pangs 

of birth, 
And the maid that knew not of kisses, blindly sprawled 

on the earth. 

From the hall Hiopa the king and his chiefs came stealth- 
ily forth. 

Already the sun hung low and enlightened the peaks of 
the north ; 
370 But the wind was stubborn to die and blew as it blows 
at morn. 

Showering the nuts in the dusk, and e'en as a banner is 
torn. 

High on the peaks of the island, shattered the moun- 
tain cloud. 

And now at once, at a signal, a silent, emulous crowd 

Set hands to the work of death, hurrying to and fro. 

Like ants, to furnish the fagots, building them broad 
and low. 

And piling them high and higher around the walls of 
the hall. 

Silence persisted within, for sleep lay heavy on all. 

But the mother of Tamatea stood at Hiopa's side. 

And shook for terror and joy like a girl that is a bride. 
380 Night fell on the toilers, and first Hiopa the wise 

Made the round of the house, visiting all with his eyes; 

And all was piled to the eaves, and fuel blockaded the 
door; 

And within, in the house beleaguered, slumbered the 
forty score. 

Then was an aito dispatched and came with fire in his 
hand, 

300 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

And Hiopa took it. — " Within," said he, "is the life of 

a land; 
And behold! I breathe on the coal, I breathe on the dales 

of the east, 
And silence falls on forest and shore ; the voice of the feast 
Is quenched, and the smoke of cooking; the rooftree 

decays and falls 
On the empty lodge, and the winds subvert deserted 

walls." 

Therewithal, to the fuel, he laid the glowing coal; 3Q0 

And the redness ran in the mass and burrowed within 
like a mole. 

And copious smoke was conceived. But, as when a 
dam is to burst. 

The water lips it and crosses in silver trickles at first. 

And then, of a sudden, whelms and bears it away forth- 
right : 

So now, in a moment, the flame sprang and towered in 
the night, 

And wrestled and roared in the wind, and high over 
house and tree, 

Stood, like a streaming torch, enlightening land and sea. 

But the mother of Tamatea threw her arms abroad, 
"Pyre of my son," she shouted, "debited vengeance 

of God, 
Late, late, I behold you, yet I behold you at last, 400 

And glory, beholding! For now are the days of my 

agony past, 
The lust that famished my soul now eats and drinks its 

desire, 
And they that encompassed my son shrivel alive in the fire. 

301 



BALLADS 

Tenfold precious the vengeance that comes after linger- 
ing years ! 

Ye quenched the voice of my singer? — hark, in your 
dying ears, 

The song of the conflagration! Ye left me a widow 
alone ? 

— Behold, the whole of your race consumes, sinew and 
bone 

And torturing flesh together: man, mother, and maid 

Heaped in a common shambles; and already, borne by 
the trade, 
Jio The smoke of your dissolution darkens the stars of 
night." 

Thus she spoke, and her stature grew in the people's 
sight. 

III. RAHERO 

Rahero was there in the hall asleep: beside him his 

wife. 
Comely, a mirthful woman, one that delighted in life; 
And a girl that was ripe for marriage, shy and sly as a 

mouse; 
And a boy, a climber of trees : all the hopes of his house. 
Unwary, with open hands, he slept in the midst of his 

folk. 
And dreamed that he heard a voice crying without, and 

awoke. 
Leaping blindly afoot like one from a dream that he fears. 
A hellish glow and clouds were about him; — it roared 

in his ears 

302 



II 



i 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

Like the sound of the cataract fall that plunges sudden 420 

and steep; 
And Rahero swayed as he stood, and his reason was 

still asleep. 
Now the flame struck hard on the house, wind-wielded, 

a fracturing blow, 
And the end of the roof was burst and fell on the sleepers 

below; 
And the lofty hall, and the feast, and the prostrate bodies 

of folk, 
Shone red in his eyes a moment, and then were swal- 
lowed of smoke. 
In the mind of Rahero clearness came; and he opened 

his throat; 
And as when a squall comes sudden, the straining sail 

of a boat 
Thunders aloud and bursts, so thundered the voice of 

the man. 
— " The wind and the rain ! " he shouted, the mustering 

word of the clan,i* 
And "up! "and "to arms, menofVaiau!" But silence 430 

replied. 
Or only the voice of the gusts of the fire, and nothing 

beside. 

Rahero stooped and groped. He handled his womankind, 

But the fumes of the fire and the kava had quenched the 
life of their mind, 

And they lay like pillars prone; and his hand encoun- 
tered the boy. 

And there sprang in the gloom of his soul a sudden 
lightning of joy. 

303 



BALLADS 

"Him can I save!" he thought, "if I were speedy 
enough." ^ 

And he loosened the cloth from his loins, and swaddled 
the child in the stuff; 

And about the strength of his neck he knotted the burden 
well. 



There where the roof had fallen, it roared like the mouth 

of hell. 
440 Thither Rahero went, stumbling on senseless folk. 

And grappled a post of the house, and began to climb in 

the §jTioke : 
The last alive of Vaiau: and the son borne by the sire. 
The post glowed in the grain with ulcers of eating fire. 
And the fire bit to the blood and mangled his hands and 

thighs; 
And the fumes sang in his head like wine and stung in 

his eyes; 
And still he climbed, and came to the top, the place of 

proof. 
And thrust a hand through the flame, and clambered 

alive on the roof 
But even as he did so, the wind, in a garment of flames 

and pain. 
Wrapped him from head to heel; and the waistcloth 

parted in twain ; 
450 And the living fruit of his loins dropped in the fire below. 

About theblazing feast-house clustered the eyes of the foe, 

Watching, hand upon weapon, lest ever a soul should 

flee. 
Shading the brow from the glare, straining the neck to see. 

304 



I 
I 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

Only, to leeward, the flames in the wind swept far and 

wide. 
And the forest sputtered on fire; and there might no 

man abide. 
Thither Rahero crept, and dropped from the burning 

eaves, 
And crouching low to the ground, in a treble covert of 

leaves 
And fire and volleying smoke, ran for the life of his soul 
Unseen; and behind him under a furnace of ardent coal, 
Cairned with a wonder of flame, and blotting the night 460 

with smoke. 
Blazed and were smelted together the bones of all his folk. 

He fled unguided at first; but hearing the breakers roar, 
Thitherward shaped his way, and came at length to the 

shore. 
Sound-limbed he was : dry-eyed ; but smarted in every 

part; 
And the mighty cage of his ribs heaved on his straining 

heart 
With sorrow and rage. And "Fools! " he cried, " fools 

of Vaiau, 
Heads of swine — gluttons — Alas! and where are they 

now? 
Those that I played with, those that nursed me, those 

that I nursed ? 
God, and 1 outliving them ! I, the least and the worst — 
1, that thought myself crafty, snared by this herd of 470 

swine. 
In the tortures of hell and desolate, stripped of all that 

was mine: 

305 



t 



BALLADS 

AH ! — my friends and my fathers — the silver heads of 

yore 
That trooped to the council, the children that ran to the 

open door 
Crying with innocent voices and clasping a father's 

knees! 
And mine, my wife — my daughter — my sturdy climber 

of trees. 
Ah, never to climb again ! " 

Thus in the dusk of the night, 
(For clouds rolled in the sky and the moon was swal- 
lowed from sight,) 
Pacing and gnawing his fists, Rahero raged by the 
shore. 
480 Vengeance: that must be his. But much was to do be- 
fore; 
And first a single life to be snatched from a deadly place, 
A life, the root of revenge, surviving plant of the race: 
And next the race to be raised anew, and the lands of 

the clan 
Repeopled. So Rahero designed, a prudent man 
Even in wrath, and turned for the means of revenge and 

escape: 
A boat to be seized by stealth, a wife to be taken by rape. 

Still was the dark lagoon ; beyond on the coral wall, 
He saw the breakers shine, he heard them bellow and 

fall. 
Alone, on the top of the reef, a man with a flaming 
brand 
490 Walked, gazing and pausing, a fish-spear poised in his 
hand. 

306 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

The foam boiled to his calf when the mightier breakers 

came, 
And the torch shed in the wind scattering tufts of 

flame. 
Afar on the dark lagoon a canoe lay idly at wait: 
A figure dimly guiding it: surely the fisherman's 

mate. 
Rahero saw and he smiled. He straightened his mighty 

thews: 
Naked, with never a weapon, and covered with scorch 

and bruise, 
He straightened his arms, he filled the void of his body 

with breath. 
And, strong as the wind in his manhood, doomed the 

fisher to death. 



Silent he entered the water, and silently swam, and 

came 
There where the fisher walked, holding on high the 500 

flame. 
Loud on the pier of the reef volleyed the breach of the 

sea; 
And hard at the back of the man, Rahero crept to his 

knee 
On the coral, and suddenly sprang and seized him, the 

elder hand 
Clutching the joint of his throat, the other snatching the 

brand 
Ere it had time to fall, and holding it steady and high. 
Strong was the fisher, brave, and swift of mind and of 

eye — 

307 



BALLADS 

Strongly he threw in the clutch ; but Rahero resisted the 

strain, 
And jerked, and the spine of life snapped with a crack 

in twain, 
And the man came slack in his hands and tumbled a 

lump at his feet. 

510 One moment: and there, on the reef, where the breakers 

whitened and beat, 
Rahero was standing alone, glowing and scorched and 

bare, 
A victor unknown of any, raising the torch in the air. 
But once he drank of his breath, and instantly set him 

to fish 
Like a man intent upon supper at home and a savoury 

dish. 
For what should the woman have seen ? A man with 

a torch — and then 
A moment's blur of the eyes — and a man with a torch 

again. 
And the torch had scarcely been shaken. " Ah, surely, " 

Rahero said, 
"She will deem it a trick of the eyes, a fancy born in 

the head ; J 

But time must be given the fool to nourish a fool's belief." 
520 So for a while, a sedulous fisher, he walked the reef, 
Pausing at times and gazing, striking at times with the 

spear: A 

— Lastly, uttered the call; and even as the boat drew 

near. 
Like a man that was done with its use, tossed the torch 

in the sea. 

308 



I 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

Lightly he leaped on the boat beside the woman; and 

she 
Lightly addressed him, and yielded the paddle and place 

to sit; 
For now the torch was extinguished the night was 

black as the pit. 
Rahero set him to row, never a word he spoke, 
And the boat sang in the water urged by his vigorous 

stroke, 
— "What ails you?" the woman asked, "and why 

did you drop the brand ? 
We have only to kindle another as soon as we come to 530 

land." 
Never a word Rahero replied, but urged the canoe. 
And a chill fell on the woman. — "Atta! speak! is it 

you? 
Speak! Why are you silent? Why do you bend 

aside ? 
Wherefore steer to the seaward ?" thus she panted and 

cried. 
Never a word from the oarsman, toiling there in the 

dark; 
But right for a gate of the reef he silently headed the 

bark, 
And wielding the single paddle with passionate sweep 

on sweep. 
Drove her, the little fitted, forth on the open deep. 

And fear, there where she sat, froze the woman to 

stone : 
Not fear of the crazy boat and the weltering deep 540 

alone; 

309 



BALLADS 

But a keener fear of the night, the dark, and the ghost- 
ly hour, 

And the thing that drove the canoe with more than a 
mortal's power 

And more than a mortal's boldness. For much she knew 
of the dead A 

That haunt and fish upon reefs, toiling, like men, for 
bread. 

And traffic with human fishers, or slay them and take 
their ware. 

Till the hour when the star of the dead ^^ goes down, 
and the morning air 

Blows, and the cocks are singing on shore. And sure- 
ly she knew 

The speechless thing at her side belonged to the grave.^^ 

It blew 
All night from the south; all night, Rahero contended 

and kept 
550 The prow to the cresting sea; and, silent as though she 

slept, 
The woman huddled and quaked. And now was the 

peep of day. 
High and long on their left the mountainous island lay; 
And over the peaks of Taiarapu arrows of sunlight 

struck. 
On shore the birds were beginning to sing: the ghost- 
ly ruck 
Of the buried had long ago returned to the covered 

grave ; 
And here on the sea, the woman, waxing suddenly 

brave, 

310 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

Turned her swiftly about and looked in the face of the 

man. 
And sure he was none that she knew, none of her 

country or clan : 
A stranger, mother-naked, and marred with the marks 

of fire, 
But comely and great of stature, a man to obey and ad- 560 

mire. 

And Rahero regarded her also, fixed, with a frowning 

face. 
Judging the woman's fitness to mother a warlike race. 
Broad of shoulder, ample of girdle, long in the thigh, 
Deep of bosom she was, and bravely supported his eye. 

"Woman," said he, "last night the men of yourfolk — 
Man, woman, and maid, smothered my race in smoke. 
It was done like cowards; and I, a mighty man of my 

hands. 
Escaped, a single life; and now to the empty lands 
And smokeless hearths of my people, sail, with your- 
self, alone. 
Before your mother was born, the die of to-day was c-yo 

thrown 
And you selected: — your husband, vainly striving, to 

fall 
Broken between these hands: — yourself to be severed 

from all, 
The places, the people, you love — home, kindred, and 

clan — 
And to dwell in a desert and bear the babes of a kinless 

man." 

311 



NOTES TO THE SONG OF RAHERO 

Introduction. — This tale, of which I have not consciously changed 
a single feature, I received from tradition. It is highly popular through 
all the country of the eight Tevas, the clan to which Rahero belonged; 
and particularly in Taiarapu, the windward peninsula of Tahiti, where 
he lived. I have heard from end to end two versions; and as many as 
five different persons have helped me with details. There seems no 
reason why the tale should not be true. 

Note I, verse 22. "The aito," quasi champion, or brave. One 
skilled in the use of some weapon, who wandered the country chal- 
lenging distinguished rivals and taking part in local quarrels. It was 
in the natural course of his advancement to be at last employed by a 
chief, or king; and it would then be a part of his duties to purvey the 
victim for sacrifice. One of the doomed families was indicated; the 
aito took his weapon and went forth alone; a little behind him bearers 
followed with the sacrificial basket. Sometimes the victim showed 
fight, sometimes prevailed; more often, without doubt, he fell. But 
whatever body was found, the bearers indifferently took up. 

Note 2, verses 45, etseq. "Pat," " Honour a," and " Ahupu." 
Legendary persons of Tahiti, all natives of Taiarapu. Of the two first, 
I have collected singular although imperfect legends, which I hope soon 
to lay before the public in another place. Of Ahupu, except in snatches 
of song, little memory appears to linger. She dwelt at least about 
Tepari, — "the sea-cliffs," — the eastern fastness of the isle; walked 
bypaths known only to herself upon the mountains; was courted by 
dangerous suitors who came swimming from adjacent islands, and de- 
fended and rescued (as I gather) by the loyalty of native fish. My 
anxiety to learn more of " Ahupu Vehine " became (during my stay in 
Taiarapu) a cause of some diversion to that mirthful people, the 
inhabitants. 

312 



THE SONG OF RAHERO 

Note 3, verse 80. " Covered an oven." The cooking fire is made 
in a hole in the ground, and is then buried. 

Note 4, verse 85. "Flies." This is perhaps an anachronism. Even 
speaking of to-day in Tahiti, the phrase would have to be understood 
as referring mainly to mosquitoes, and these only in watered valleys 
with close woods, such as I suppose to form the surroundings of 
Rahero's homestead. Quarter of a mile away, where the air moves 
freely, you shall look in vain for one. 

Note 5, verse 115. "Hook" of mother-of-pearl. Bright-hook 
fishing, and that with the spear, appear to be the favourite native 
methods. " 

Note 6, verse 133. "Leaves," the plates of Tahiti. 

Note 7, verse 144. " Yottowas," so spelt for convenience of pro- 
nunciation, quasi Tacksmen in the Scottish Highlands. The organi- 
sation of eight sub-districts and eight yottowas to a division, which 
was in use (until yesterday) among the Tevas, I have attributed with- 
out authority to the next clan: see verses 341-2. 

Note 8, verse 160. " Omare," pronounce as a dactyl. A loaded 
quarter-staff, one of the two favourite weapons of the Tahitian brave: 
the javelin, or casting spear, was the other. 

Note 9, verse 202. " The ribbon of light." Still to be seen (and 
heard) spinning from one marae to another on Tahiti; or so I have 
it upon evidence that would rejoice the Psychical Society. 

Note 10, verse 221. " Ndmunu-ura." The complete name is 
Namunu-ura te aropa. Why it should be pronounced Namunu, dactyl- 
lically, I cannot see, but so I have always heard it. This was the clan 
immediately beyond the Tevas on the south coast of the island. At 
the date of the tale the clan organisation must have been very weak. 
There is no particular mention of Tamatea's mother going to Papara, 
to the head chief of her own clan, which would appear her natural re- 
course. On the other hand, she seems to have visited various lesser 
chiefs among the Tevas, and these to have excused themselves solely on 
the danger of the enterprise, The broad distinction here drawn 
between Nateva and Namunu-ura is therefore not impossibly ana- 
chronistic. 

313 



BALLADS 

Note II, verse 223. " Hiopa the king." Hiopa was really the 
name of the king (chief) of Vaiau; but 1 could never learn that of the 
king of Paea — pronounce to rhyme with the Indian ayab — and 1 gave 
the name where it was most needed. This note must appear otiose 
indeed to readers who have never heard of either of these two gentle- 
men; and perhaps there is only one person in the world capable at 
once of reading my verses and spying the inaccuracy. For him, for 
Mr. Tati Salmon, hereditary high chief of the Tevas, the note is solely 
written : a small attention from a clansman to his chief 

Note 12, verse 239. "Let the pigs be tapu." It is impossible to 
explain tapu in a note; we have it as an English word, taboo. 
Suffice it, that a thing which was tapu must not be touched, nor a 
place that was tapu visited. 

Note 13, verse 354. "Fish, the food of desire." There is a special 
word in the Tahitian language to signify hungering after fish. I may 
remark that here is one of my chief difficulties about the whole story. 
How did king, commons, women, and all come to eat together at this 
feast? But it troubled none of my numerous authorities; so there 
must certainly be some natural explanation. 

Note 14, verse 429. " The mustering word of the clan." 

Teva te ua, 
Teva te matai ! 
Teva the wind, 
Teva the rain ! 

Note 15, verse 546. Note 16, verse 548. " The star of the dead." 
Venus as a morning star. I have collected much curious evidence 
as to this belief The dead retain their taste for a fish diet, enter 
into copartnery with living fishers, and haunt the reef and the la- 
goon. The conclusion attributed to the nameless lady of the legend 
would be reached to-day, under the like circumstances, by ninety per 
cent, of Polynesians; and here I probably understate by one-tenth. 



I 



314 



THE FEAST OF FAMINE 



THE FEAST OF FAMINE 

MARQUESAN MANNERS 

I. THE priest's vigil 

IN all the land of the tribe was neither fish nor fruit, 
And the deepest pit of popoi stood empty to the 

foot.i 
The clans upon the left and the clans upon the right 
Now oiled their carven maces and scoured their daggers 

bright ; 
They gat them to the thicket, to the deepest of the shade, 
And lay with sleepless eyes in the deadly ambuscade. 
And oft in the starry even the song of mourning rose, 
What time the oven smoked in the country of their foes; 
For oft to loving hearts, and waiting ears and sight. 
The lads that went to forage returned not with the 10 

night. 
Now first the children sickened, and then the women 

paled, 
And the great arms of the warrior no more for war 

availed. 
Hushed was the deep drum, discarded was the dance; 
And those that met the priest now glanced at him 

askance. 

317 



BALLADS 

The priest was a man of years, his eyes were ruby-red,^ 
He neither feared the dark nor the terrors of the dead, 
He knew the songs of races, the names of ancient date; i 
And the beard upon his bosom would have bought the 

chiefs estate. 
He dwelt in a high-built lodge, hard by the roaring 

shore, ' 

20 Raised on a noble terrace and with tikis ^ at the door. 
Within it was full of riches, for he served his nation j 

well, 
And full of the sound of breakers, like the hollow of a shell. ! 
For weeks he let them perish, gave never a helping sign, ij 
But sat on his oiled platform to commune with the 

divine, 
But sat on his high terrace, with the tikis by his side. 
And stared on the blue ocean, like a parrot, ruby-eyed. 

Dawn as yellow as sulphur leaped on the mountain 

height: 
Out on the round of the sea the gems of the morning 

light, 
Up from the round of the sea the streamers of the sun ; — 
30 But down in the depths of the valley the day was not 

begun. 
In the blue of the woody twilight burned red the cocoa- 
husk, 
And the women and men of the clan went forth to 

bathe in the dusk. 
A word that began to go round, a word, a whisper, a 

start : 
Hope that leaped in the bosom, fear that knocked on 

the heart: 

318 



THE FEAST OF FAMINE 

"See, the priest is not risen — look, for his door is fast! 
" He is going to name the victims; he is going to help 
us at last." 

Thrice rose the sun to noon ; and ever, like one of the 

dead, 
The priest lay still in his house with the roar of the sea 

in his head; 
There was never a foot on the floor, there was never a 

whisper of speech; 
Only the leering tikis stared on the blinding beach. 40 
Again were the mountains fired, again the morning 

broke; 
And all the houses lay still, but the house of the priest 

awoke. 
Close in their covering roofs lay and trembled the 

clan. 
But the aged, red-eyed priest ran forth like a lunatic 

man ; 
And the village panted to see him in the jewels of death 

again, 
In the silver beards of the old and the hair of women 

slain. 
Frenzy shook in his limbs, frenzy shone in his eyes, 
And still and again as he ran, the valley rang with his 

cries. 
All day long in the land, by cliff and thicket and den. 
He ran his lunatic rounds, and howled for the flesh of 50 

men; 
All day long he ate not, nor ever drank of the brook; 
And all day long in their houses the people listened and 

shook — 

319 



BALLADS 

All day long in their houses they listened with bated 

breath, 
And never a soul went forth, for the sight of the priest 

was death. 

Three were the days of his running, as the gods ap- 
pointed of yore, 
Two the nights of his sleeping alone in the place of gore : 
The drunken slumber of frenzy twice he drank to the lees. 
On the sacred stones of the High-place under the sacred 

trees ; 
With a lamp at his ashen head he lay in the place of the 

feast, 
60 And the sacred leaves of the banyan rustled around the 

priest. 
Last, when the stated even fell upon terrace and tree. 
And the shade of the lofty island lay leagues away to sea, 
And all the valleys of verdure were heavy with manna 

and musk, 
The wreck of the red-eyed priest came gasping home 

in the dusk. 
He reeled across the village, he staggered along the shore, 
And between the leering tikis crept groping through his 

door. 

There went a stir through the lodges, the voice of speech 

awoke; 
Once more from the builded platforms arose the evening 

smoke. 
And those who were mighty in war, and those renowned 
for an art 
yo Sat in their stated seats and talked of the morrow apart. 

320 



THE FEAST OF FAMINE 



II. THE LOVERS 



Hark! away in the woods — for the ears of love are 

sharp — 
Stealthily, quietly touched, the note of the one-stringed 

harp.* 
In the lighted house of her father, why should Taheia 

start ? 
Taheia heavy of hair, Taheia tender of heart, 
Taheia the well-descended, a bountiful dealer in love. 
Nimble of foot like the deer, and kind of eye like the dove ? 
Sly and shy as a cat, with never a change of face, 
Taheia slips to the door, like one that would breathe a 

space; 
Saunters and pauses, and looks at the stars, and lists to 

the seas; 
Then sudden and swift as a cat, she plunges under the 80 

trees. 
Swift as a cat she runs, with her garment gathered high, 
Leaping, nimble of foot, running, certain of eye; 
And ever to guide her way over the smooth and the 

sharp, 
Ever nearer and nearer the note of the one-stringed harp ; 
Till at length, in a glade of the wood, with a naked 

mountain above. 
The sound of the harp thrown down, and she in the 

arms of her love. 
"Rua," — "Taheia," they cry — "my heart, my soul, 

and my eyes," 
And clasp and sunder and kiss, with lovely laughter and 

sighs, 

321 



BALLADS 

"Rua!"— "Taheia, my love," — " Rua, star of m}; 
night, 
90 Clasp me, hold me, and love me, single spring of de- Aj 
light." '' 

And Rua folded her close, he folded her near and long. 
The living knit to the living, and sang the lover's song: 



Night, night it is, night upon the palms. 
Night, night it is, the land wind 1ms blown. 
Starry, starry night, over deep and height; 
Lave, love in the valley, love all alone. 



"Taheia, heavy of hair, a foolish thing have we done, 
To bind what gods have sundered unkindly into one. 
Why should a lowly lover have touched Taheia's skirt, 
100 Taheia the well-descended, and Rua child of the dirt?" 
— "On high with the haka-ikis my father sits in state. 
Ten times fifty kinsmen salute him in the gate; 
Round all his martial body, and in bands across his face, 
The marks of the tattooer proclaim his lofty place. 
I too, in the hands of the cunning, in the sacred cabin 

of palm, ^ 
Have shrunk like the mimosa, and bleated like the lamb; 
Round half my tender body, that none shall clasp but 

you. 
For a crest and a fair adornment go dainty lines of blue. 
Love, love, beloved Rua, love levels all degrees, 
1 10 And the well-tattooed Taheia clings panting to youi 

knees." 



THE FEAST OF FAMINE 

— " Taheia, song of the morning, how long is the long- 

est love ? 
A cry, a clasp of the hands, a star that falls from above! 
Ever at morn in the blue, and at night when all is black 
Ever it skulks and trembles with the hunter, Death, on 

its track. 
Hear me, Taheia, death ! For to-morrow the priest shall 

awake. 
And the names be named of the victims to bleed for the 

nation's sake; 
And first of the numbered many that shall be slain ere 

noon, 
Rua the child of the dirt, Rua the kinless loon. 
For him shall the drum be beat, for him be raised the 

song. 
For him to the sacred High-place the chaunting people 120 

throng, 
For him the oven smoke as for a speechless beast. 
And the sire of my Taheia come greedy to the feast," 

— " Rua, be silent, spare me. Taheia closes her ears. 
Pity my yearning heart, pity my girlish years ! 

Flee from the cruel hands, flee from the knife and coal, 
Lie hid in the deeps of the woods, Rua, sire of my soul ! " 

" Whither to flee, Taheia, whither in all of the land ? 
The fires of the bloody kitchen are kindled on every 

hand; 
On every hand in the isle a hungry whetting of teeth, 
Eyes in the trees above, arms in the brush beneath. 130 
Patience to lie in wait, cunning to follow the sleuth, 
Abroad the foes I have fought, and at home the friends 

of my youth." 

323 



BALLADS 

" Love, love, beloved Rua, love has a clearer eye. 
Hence from the arms of love you go not forth to die. 
There, where the broken mountain drops sheer into the 

glen, 
Thereshallyoufindahold from the boldest hunter of men; 
There, in the deep recess, where the sun falls only at 

noon, 
And only once in the night enters the light of the moon, 
Nor ever a sound but of birds, or the rain when it falls 

with a shout; 
140 For death and the fear of death beleaguer the valley about. 
Tapu it is, but the gods will surely pardon despair; 
Tapu, but what of that ? If Rua can only dare. 
Tapu and tapu and tapu, I know they are every one 

right; 
But the god of every tapu is not always quick to smite. 
Lie secret there, my Rua, in the arms of awful gods, 
Sleep in the shade of the trees on the couch of the kindly 

sods. 
Sleep and dream of Taheia, Taheia will wake for you; 
And whenever the land wind blows and the woods are 

heavy with dew. 
Alone through the horror of night,® with food for the 
soul of her love, 
150 Taheia the undissuaded will hurry true as the dove." 

"Taheia, the pit of the night crawls with treacherous 

things. 
Spirits of ultimate air and the evil souls of things; 
The souls of the dead, the stranglers, that perch in the 

trees of the wood. 
Waiters for all things human, haters of evil and good." 

324 



THE FEAST OF FAMINE 

"Rua, behold me, kiss me, look in my eyes and read; 
Are these the eyes of a maid that would leave her lover 

in need ? 
Brave in the eye of day, my father ruled in the fight; 
The child of his loins, Taheia, will play the man in the 

night." 

So it was spoken, and so agreed, and Taheia arose 

And smiled in the stars and was gone, swift as the swal- i6o 

low goes ; 
And Rua stood on the hill, and sighed, and followed her 

flight, 
And there were the lodges below, each with its door 

alight; 
From folk that sat on the terrace and drew out the even 

long 
Sudden Growings of laughter, monotonous drone of 

song; 
The quiet passage of souls over his head in the trees ; ' 
And from all around the haven the crumbling thunder 

of seas. 
"Farewell, my home," said Rua. "Farewell, O quiet 

seat! 
To-morrow in all your valleys the drum of death shall 

beat." 



III. THE FEAST 

Dawn as yellow as sulphur leaped on the naked peak. 
And all the village was stirring, for now was the priest 170 
to speak. 

325 



BALLADS 

Forth on his terrace he came, and sat with the chief in 

talk; 
His lips were blackened with fever, his cheeks were 

whiter than chalk; 
Fever clutched at his hands, fever nodded his head, 
But, quiet and steady and cruel, his eyes shone ruby- 
red. 
In the earliest rays of the sun the chief rose up content; 
Braves were summoned, and drummers; messengers 

came and went; 
Braves ran to their lodges, weapons were snatched from 

the wall; 
The commons herded together, and fear was over them 

all. 
Festival dresses they wore, but the tongue was dry in 

their mouth, 
180 And the blinking eyes in their faces skirted from north 

to south. 



Now to the sacred enclosure gathered the greatest and 

least, 
And from under the shade of the Banyan arose the 

voice of the feast, 
The frenzied roll of the drum, and a swift, monotonous 

song. 
Higher the sun swam up; the trade wind level and 

strong 
Awoke in the tops of the palms and rattled the fans 

aloud. 
And over the garlanded heads and shining robes of the 

crowd 

326 



I 



THE FEAST OF FAMINE 

Tossed the spiders of shadow, scattered the jewels of 

sun. 
Forty the tale of the drums, and the forty throbbed like 

one; 
A thousand hearts in the crowd, and the even chorus of 

song, 
Swift as the feet of a runner, trampled a thousand strong. 19- 
And the old men leered at the ovens and licked their 

lips for the food ; 
And the women stared at the lads, and laughed and 

looked to the wood. 
As when the sweltering baker, at night, when the city 

is dead, 
Alone in the trough of labour treads and fashions the 

bread; 
So in the heat, and the reek, and the touch of woman 

and man. 
The naked spirit of evil kneaded the hearts of the clan. 

Now cold was at many a heart, and shaking in many a 
seat; 

For there were the empty baskets, but who was to fur- 
nish the meat ? 

For here was the nation assembled, and there were the 
ovens anigh. 

And out of a thousand singers nine were numbered to 200 
die. 

Till, of a sudden, a shock, a mace in the air, a yell. 

And, struck in the edge of the crowd, the first of the 
victims fell.^ 

Terror and horrible glee divided the shrinking clan, 

Terror of what was to follow, glee for a diet of man. 

327 



II 



BALLADS 

Frenzy hurried the chaunt, frenzy rattled the drums ; 
The nobles, high on the terrace, greedily mouthed their 

thumbs; 
And once and again and again, in the ignorant crowd 

below, 
Once and again and again descended the murderous 

blow. 
Now smoked the oven, and now, with the cutting lip 

of a shell, 
210 A butcher of ninety winters jointed the bodies well. 
Unto the carven lodge, silent, in order due, 
The grandees of the nation one after one withdrew; 
And a line of laden bearers brought to the terrace foot, 
On poles across their shoulders, the last reserve of fruit 
The victims bled for the nobles in the old appointed 

way; 
The fruit was spread for the commons, for all should eal 

to-day. 

And now was the kava brewed, and now the cocca ran, 
Now was the hour of the dance for child and woman 

and man; 
And mirth was in every heart, and a garland on every 

head, 
220 And all was well with the living and well with the eight 

who were dead. 
Only the chiefs and the priest talked and consulted 

awhile: 
"To-morrow," they said, and "To-morrow," and 

nodded and seemed to smile: 
"Rua the child of dirt, the creature of common clay, 
" Rua must die to-morrow, since Rua is gone to-day." 

?28 



THE FEAST OF FAMINE 

Out of the groves of the valley, v^here clear the black- 
birds sang, 
Sheer from the trees of the valley the face of the moun 

tain sprang; 
Sheer and bare it rose, unscalable barricade. 
Beaten and blown against by the generous draught of 

the trade. 
Dawn on its fluted brow painted rainbow light. 
Close on its pinnacled crown trembled the stars at 230 

night. 
Here and there in a cleft clustered contorted trees, 
Or the silver beard of a stream hung and swung in the 

breeze. 
High overhead, with a cry, the torrents leaped for the 

main, 
And silently sprinkled below in thin perennial rain. 
Dark in the staring noon, dark was Rua's ravine. 
Damp and cold was the air, and the face of the cliffs was 

green. 
Here, in the rocky pit, accursed already of old. 
On a stone in the midst of a river, Rua sat and was cold. 

"Valley of mid-day shadows, valley of silent falls," 
Rua sang, and his voice went hollow about the walls, 240 
"Valley of shadow and rock, a doleful prison to me. 
What is the life you can give to a child of the sun and 
the sea ? " 

And Rua arose and came to the open mouth of the 

glen. 
Whence he beheld the woods, and the sea, and houses 

of men. 

329 



BALLADS 

Wide blew the riotous trade, and smelt in his nostrils 

good; 
It bowed the boats on the bay, and tore and divided 

the wood; 
It smote and sundered the groves as Moses smote with 

the rod, 
And the streamers of all the trees blew like banners 

abroad ; 
And ever and on, in a lull, the trade wind brought him 

along 
250 A far-off patter of drums and a far-off whisper of song. 



Swift as the swallow's wings, the diligent hands on the 

drum 
Fluttered and hurried and throbbed. "Ah, woe that I 

hear you come," 
Rua cried in his grief, " a sorrowful sound to me. 
Mounting far and faint from the resonant shore of the 

sea! 
Woe in the song! for the grave breathes in the singen>' 

breath. 
And I hear in the tramp of the drums the beat of the 

heart of death. 
Home of my youth! no more, through all the length of 

the years, 
No more to the place of the echoes of early laughter and 

tears. 
No more shall Rua return; no more as the evening 

ends, 
260 To crowded eyes of welcome, to the reaching hands of 

friends." 

?10 



THE FEAST OF FAMINE 

All day long from the High-place the drums and the 
singing came, 

And the even fell, and the sun went down, a wheel of 
flame; 

And night came gleaning the shadows and hushing the 
sounds of the wood; 

And silence slept on all, where Rua sorrowed and 
stood. 

But still from the shore of the bay the sound of the fes- 
tival rang, 

And still the crowd in the High-place danced and shout- 
ed and sang. 

Now over all the isle terror was breathed abroad 

Of shadowy hands from the trees and shadowy snares 

in the sod; 
And before the nostrils of night, the shuddering hunter 

of men 
Hurried, with beard on shoulder, back to his lighted 270 

den. 
" Taheia, here to my side ! " — " Rua, my Rua, you ! " 
And cold from the clutch of terror, cold with the damp 

of the dew, 
Taheia, heavy of hair, leaped through the dark to his 

arms; 
Taheia leaped to his clasp, and was folded in from 

alarms. 

**Rua, beloved, here, see what your love has brought; 
Coming — alas! returning — swift as the shuttle of 
thought; 

331 



BALLADS 



Returning, alas! for to-night, with the beaten drum 
and the voice, « 

In the shine of many torches must the sleepless clan re- 1 
joice ; ■ 

And Taheia the well-descended, the daughter of chief 

and priest, 
280 Taheia must sit in her place in the crowded bench of 

the feast." 
So it was spoken ; and she, girding her garment high. 
Fled and was swallowed of woods, swift as the sight 

of an eye. 

Night over isle and sea rolled her curtain of stars. 
Then a trouble awoke in the air, the east was banded 
with bars; 

Dawn as yellow as sulphur leaped on the mountain 
height; 

Dawn, in the deepest glen, fell a wonder of light; 

High and clear stood the palms in the eye of the bright- 
ening east, 

And lo! from the sides of the sea the broken sound of 
the feast ! 

As, when in days of summer, through open windows, 

the fly 
290 Swift as a breeze and loud as a trump goes by. 

But when frosts in the field have pinched the wintering 

mouse. 

Blindly noses and buzzes and hums in the firelit 

house: 
So the sound of the feast gallantly trampled at night, 
So it staggered and drooped, and droned in the morn- 
ing light. 

332 



THE FEAST OF FAMINE 



IV. THE RAID 



It chanced that as Rua sat in the valley of silent falls, 
He heard a calling of doves from high on the cliffy 

walls. 
Fire had fashioned of yore, and time had broken, the 

rocks ; 
There were rooting crannies for trees and nesting-places 

for flocks; 
And he«aw on the top of the cliffs, looking up from the 

pit of the shade, 
A flicker of wings and sunshine, and trees that swung 300 

in the trade. 
"The trees swing in the trade," quoth Rua, doubtful 

of words, 
"And the sun stares from the sky, but what should 

trouble the birds ? " 
Up from the shade he gazed, where high the parapet 

shone, 
And he was aware of a ledge and of things that moved 

thereon. 
"What manner of things are these? Are they spirits 

abroad by day ? 
Or the foes of my clan that are come, bringing death by 

a perilous way ? " 



The valley was gouged like a vessel, and round like 

the vessel's lip. 
With a cape of the side of the hill thrust forth like the 

bows of a ship. 

333 



BALLADS 

On the top of the face of the cape a volley of sun struck 

fair, 
^10 And the cape overhung like a chin a gulph of sunless 

air. 
"Silence, heart! What is that? — that, that flickered 

and shone. 
Into the sun for an instant, and in an instant gone? 
Was it a warrior's plume, a warrior's girdle of hair? 
Swung in the loop of a rope, is he making a bridge of 

the air ? " 

Once and again Rua saw, in the trenchant edge of the 

sky, 
The giddy conjuring done. And then, in the blink of 

an eye, 
A scream caught in with the breath, a whirling packet 

of limbs, 
A lump that dived in the gulf, more swift than a dol- 
phin swims; 
And there was the lump at his feet, and eyes were alive 

in the lump. 
320 Sick was the soul of Rua, ambushed close in a clump; 
Sick of soul he drew near, making his courage stout; 
And he looked in the face of the thing, and the life of 

the thing went out. 
And he gazed on the tattooed limbs, and, behold, he 

knew the man: 
Hoka, a chief of the Vais, the truculent foe of his clan : 
Hoka a moment since that stepped in the loop of the 

rope. 
Filled with the lust of war, and alive with courage and 

hope. 

334 



THE FEAST OF FAMINE 

Again to the giddy cornice Rua lifted his eyes, 

And again beheld men passing in the armpit of the 

skies. 
" Foes of my race! " cried Rua, "the mouth of Rua is 

true: 
Never a shark in the deep is nobler of soul than you. 330 
There was never a nobler foray, never a bolder plan; 
Never a dizzier path was trod by the children of man ; 
And Rua, your evil-dealer through all the days of his 

years, 
Counts 4t honour to hate you, honour to fall by your 

spears." 
And Rua straightened his back. "O Vais, a scheme 

for a scheme! " 
Cried Rua and turned and descended the turbulent stair 

of the stream, 
Leaping from rock to rock as the water-wagtail at home 
Flits through resonant valleys and skims by boulder and 

foam. 
And Rua burst from the glen and leaped on the shore 

of the brook. 
And straight for the roofs of the clan his vigorous way 340 

he took. 
Swift were the heels of his flight, and loud behind as he 

went 
Rattled the leaping stones on the line of his long descent. 
And ever he thought as he ran, and caught at his gasp- 
ing breath, 
"O the fool of a Rua, Rua that runs to his death! 
But the right is the right," thought Rua, and ran like the 

wind on the foam, 
"The right is the right for ever, and home for ever home. 

335 



BALLADS 

For what though the oven smoke? And what though 

I die ere morn ? 
There was I nourished and tended, and there was Taheia 

born." 
Noon was high on the High-place, the second noon of 

the feast; 
^50 And heat and shameful slumber weighed on people and 

priest; 
And the heart drudged slow in bodies heavy with mon- 
strous meals; 
And the senseless limbs were scattered abroad hke 

spokes of wheels; 
And crapulous women sat and stared at the stones 

anigh 
With a bestial droop of the lip and a swinish rheum in 

the eye. 
As about the dome of the bees in the time for the drones 

to fall, 
The dead and the maimed are scattered, and lie, and 

stagger, and crawl ; 
So on the grades of the terrace, in the ardent eye of the 

day. 
The half-awake and the sleepers clustered and crawled 

and lay ; 
And loud as the dome of the bees, in the time of a 

swarming horde, 
360 A horror of many insects hung in the air and roared. 

Rua looked and wondered; he said to himself in his 

heart: 
" Poor are the pleasures of life, and death is the better 

part." 

336 



THE FEAST OF FAMINE 

But lo! on the higher benches a cluster of tranquil folk 
Sat by themselves, nor raised their serious eyes, nor 

spoke: 
Women with robes unruffled and garlands duly ar- 
ranged. 
Gazing far from the feast with faces of people estranged ; 
And quiet amongst the quiet, and fairer than all the fair, 
Taheia, the well-descended, Taheia, heavy of hair. 
And the soul of Rua awoke, courage enlightened his 

eyes, 
And he uttered a summoning shout and called on the y]0 

clan to rise. 
Over against him at once, in the spotted shade of the 

trees. 
Owlish and blinking creatures scrambled to hands and 

knees; 
On the grades of the sacred terrace, the driveller woke 

to fear. 
And the hand of the ham-drooped warrior brandished 

a wavering spear. 
And Rua folded his arms, and scorn discovered his teeth ; 
Above the war-crowd gibbered, and Rua stood smiling 

beneath. 
Thick, like leaves in the autumn, faint, like April sleet. 
Missiles from tremulous hands quivered around his feet; 
And Taheia leaped from her place; and the priest, the 

ruby-eyed. 
Ran to the front of the terrace, and brandished his arms, 380 

and cried: 
" Hold, O fools, he brings tidings! " and "Hold, 'tis the 

love of my heart!" 
Till lo! in front of the terrace, Rua pierced with a dart. 

337 



BALLADS 

Taheia cherished his head, and the aged priest stood by, 

And gazed with eyes of ruby at Rua's darkening eye. 

"Taheia, here is the end, I die a death for a man. 

I have given the life of my soul to save an unsavable 
clan! 

See them, the drooping of hams! behold me the blink- 
ing crew: 

Fifty spears they cast, and one of fifty true! 

And you, O priest, the foreteller, foretell for yourself if 
you can, 
^90 Foretell the hour of the day when the Vais shall burst 
on your clan! 

By the head of the tapu cleft, with death and fire in their 
hand, 

Thick and silent like ants, the warriors swarm in the 
land." 

And they tell that when next the sun had climbed to 

the noonday skies, 
It shone on the smoke of feasting in the country of the 

Vais. 



NOTES TO THE FEAST OF FAMINE 

In this ballad I have strung together some of the more striking par- 
ticularities of the Marquesas. It rests upon no authority; it is in no 
sense, like " Rahero," a native story; but a patchwork of details of man- 
ners and the impressions of a traveller, it may seem strange, when 
the scene is laid upon these profligate islands, to make the story hinge 
on love. But love is not less known in the Marquesas than elsewhere; 
nor is there any cause of suicide more common in the islands. 

Note I , verse 2. " Pit of Popoi." Where the bread fruit was stored 
for preservation. 

Note 2, verse 15. "Ruby-red." The priest's eyes were probably 
red from the abuse of Kava. His beard (verse 18) is said to be worth 
an estate; for the beards of old men are the favourite head adornment 
of the Marquesans, as the hair of women formed their most costly 
girdle. The former, among this generally beardless and short-lived 
people, fetch to-day considerable sums. 

Note ?, verse 20. " Tikis." The tiki is an ugly image hewn out 
of wood or stone. 

Note 4, verse 76. "The one-stringed harp." Usually employed 
for serenades. 

Note 5, verse 109. " The sacred cabin of palm." Which, how- 
ever, no woman could approach. I do not know where women were 
tattooed; probably in the common house, or in the bush, for a woman 
was a creature of small account. I must guard the reader against sup- 
posing Taheia was at all disfigured; the art of the Marquesan tattooer 
is extreme; and she would appear to be clothed in a web of lace, in- 
imitably delicate, exquisite in pattern, and of a bluish hue that at once 
contrasts and harmonises with the warm pigment of the native skin. 
It would be hard to find a woman more becomingly adorned than " a 
well tattooed " Marquesan. 



BALLAD 

Note 6, verse 155. '' The horror of ight." The Polynesian fear 
of ghosts and of the dark has been air ady referred to. Their life is 
beleaguered by the dead. 

Note 7, verse 171. " The quiet pas age of souls." So, I am told, 
the natives explain the sound of a little wind passing overhead unfelt. 

Note 8, verse 208. " The first of the viSiims fell." Without 
doubt, this vi'hole scene is untrue to fact. The victims were disposed 
of privately and some time before. And indeed I am far from claiming 
the credit of any high degree of accuracy for this ballad. Even in a 
time of famine, it is probable that Marquesan life went far more gaily 
than is here represented. But the melancholy of to-day lies on the 
writer's mind. 



TICONDEROGA 



TICONDEROGA: 

A LEGEND OF THE WEST HIGHLANDS 



THIS is the tale of the man 
Who heard a word in the night 
In the land of the heathery hills, 

In the days of the feud and the fight. 
By the sides of the rainy sea, 

Where never a stranger came. 
On the awful lips of the dead, 

He heard the outlandish name. 
It sang in his sleeping ears, 

It hummed in his waking head: lo 

The name — Ticonderoga, 

The utterance of the dead. 

I. THE SAYING OF THE NAME 

On the loch-sides of Appin, 

When the mist blew from the sea, 
A Stewart stood with a Cameron : 

An angry man was he. 

343 



BALLADS 



20 



30 



40 



The blood beat in his ears, 

The blood ran hot to his head, 
The mist blew from the sea. 

And there was the Cameron dead. 
"O, what have I done to my friend, 

O, what have I done to mysel'. 
That he should be cold and dead. 

And I in the danger of all ? 
Nothing but danger about me, 

Danger behind and before. 
Death at wait in the heather 

In Appin and Mamore, 
Hate at all of the ferries 

And death at each of the fords, 
Camerons priming gunlocks 

And Camerons sharpening swords." 

But this was a man of counsel, 

This was a man of a score, 
There dwelt no pawkier Stewart 

In Appin or Mamore. 
He looked on the blowing mist. 

He looked on the awful dead. 
And there came a smile on his face 

And there slipped a thought in his head. 

Out over cairn and moss, 

Out over scrog and scaur, ' 

He ran as runs the clansman 

That bears the cross of war. 
His heart beat in his body. 

His hair clove to his face, 
When he came at last in the gloaming 

344 



TICONDEROGA 

To the dead man's brother's place. 
The east was white with the moon, 

The west with the sun was red, 50 

And there, in the house-doorway, 

Stood the brother of the dead. 

"I have slain a man to my danger, 

I have slain a man to my death. 
I put my soul in your hands," 

The panting Stewart saith. 
"I lay it bare in your hands, 

For I know your hands are leal; 
And be you my targe and bulwark 

From the bullet and the steel." 60 

Then up and spoke the Cameron, 

And gave him his hand again: 
"There shall never a man in Scotland 

Set faith in me in vain ; 
And whatever man you have slaughtered, 

Of whatever name or line. 
By my sword and yonder mountain, 

I make your quarrel mine. ^ 
I bid you in to my fireside, 

I share with you house and hall; 70 

It stands upon my honour 

To see you safe from all." 

It fell in the time of midnight. 

When the fox barked in the den 
And the plaids were over the faces 

In all the houses of men, 
345 



BALLADS 

That as the living Cameron 
Lay sleepless on his bed, 
Out of the night and the other world, 
80 Came in to him the dead. 

" My blood is on the heather, 

My bones are on the hill; 
There is joy in the home of ravens 

That the young shall eat their fill. 
My blood is poured in the dust, 

My soul is spilled in the air; 
And the man that has undone me 

Sleeps in my brother's care." 

*' I'm wae for your death, my brother, 
QQ But if all of my house were dead, 

I couldnae withdraw the plighted hand. 
Nor break the word once said." 

"O, what shall I say to our father, 

In the place to which I fare ? 
O, what shall I say to our mother. 

Who greets to see me there ? 
And to all the kindly Camerons 

That have lived and died long-syne — 
Is this the word you send them, 

Fause-hearted brother mine ? " 



100 



"It's neither fear nor duty, 

It's neither quick nor dead 
Shall gar me withdraw the plighted hand. 

Or break the word once said." 
346 



TICONDEROGA 

Thrice in the time of midnight, 

When the fox barked in the den, 
And the plaids were over the faces 

In all the houses of men, 
Thrice as the living Cameron 

Lay sleepless on his bed, i lO 

Out of the night and the other world 

Came in to him the dead. 
And cried to him for vengeance 

On the man that laid him low; 
And thrice the living Cameron 

Told the dead Cameron, no. 



"Thrice have you seen me, brother, 

But now shall see me no more. 
Till you meet your angry fathers 

Upon the farther shore. I20 

Thrice have 1 spoken, and now. 

Before the cock be heard, 
I take my leave forever 

With the naming of a word. 
It shall sing in your sleeping ears. 

It shall hum in your waking head. 
The name — Ticonderoga, 

And the warning of the dead." 



Now when the night was over 

And the time of people's fears, 130 

The Cameron walked abroad. 

And the word was in his ears. 

347 



BALLADS 



*'Many a name I know, 
But never a name like this ; 

O, where shall I find a skilly man 
Shall tell me what it is ? " 



With many a man he counselled 

Of high and low degree, 
With the herdsmen on the mountains 
lAo And the fishers of the sea. 

And he came and went unweary. 

And read the books of yore. 
And the runes that were written of old 

On stones upon the moor. 
And many a name he was told, 

But never the name of his fears — 
Never, in east or west. 

The name that rang in his ears: 
Names of men and of clans, 
150 Names for the grass and the tree. 

For the smallest tarn in the mountains, 

The smallest reef in the sea: 
Names for the high and low. 

The names of the craig and the flat; 
But in all the land of Scotland, 

Never a name like that. 



n. THE SEEKING OF THE NAME 

And now there was speech in the south. 
And a man of the south that was wise, 

348 



TICONDEROGA 

A periwig'd lord of London,2 

Called on the clans to rise. i6o 

And the riders rode, and the summons 

Came to the western shore, 
To the land of the sea and the heather. 

To Appin and Mamore. 
It called on all to gather 

From every scrog and scaur, 
That loved their fathers' tartan 

And the ancient game of war. 
And down the watery valley 

And up the windy hill, 170 

Once more, as in the olden, 

The pipes were sounding shrill; 
Again in highland sunshine 

The naked steel was bright ; 
And the lads, once more in tartan, 

Went forth again to fight. 



" O, why should I dwell here 

With a weird upon my life, 
When the clansmen shout for battle 

And the war-swords clash in strife? 180 

I cannae joy at feast, 

I cannae sleep in bed, 
For the wonder of the word 

And the warning of the dead. 
It sings in my sleeping ears. 

It hums in my waking head. 
The name — Ticonderoga, 

The utterance of the dead. 

349 



BALLADS 



190 



200 



210 



Then up, and with the fighting men 

To march away from here, 
Till the cry of the great war-pipe 

Shall drown it in my earl " 

Where flew King George's ensign 

The plaided soldiers went: 
They drew the sword in Germany, 

In Flanders pitched the tent. 
The bells of foreign cities 

Rang far across the plain : 
They passed the happy Rhine, 

They drank the rapid Main. 
Through Asiatic jungles 

The Tartans filed their way, 
And the neighing of the war-pipes 

Struck terror in Cathay.^ 
" Many a name have I heard," he thought, 

" In all the tongues of men, 
Full many a name both here and there, 

Full many both now and then. 
When I was at home in my father's house 

In the land of the naked knee. 
Between the eagles that fly in the lift 

And the herrings that swim in the sea. 
And now that I am a captain-man 

With a braw cockade in my hat — 
Many a name have I heard," he thought 

" But never a name like that." 



550 



TICONDRROGA 



111. THE PLACE OF THE NAME 



There fell a war in a woody place, 

Lay far across the sea, 
A war of the march in the mirk midnight 

And the shot from behind the tree, -220 

The shaven head and the painted face. 

The silent foot in the wood, 
In a land of a strange, outlandish tongue 

That was hard to be understood. 



It fell about the gloaming 

The general stood with his staff. 
He stood and he looked east and west 

With little mind to laugh. 
"Far have I been and much have I seen. 

And kent both gain and loss, 230 

But here we have woods on every hand 

And a kittle water to cross. 
Far have I been and much have I seen, 

But never the beat of this ; 
And there's one must go down to that water- 
side 

To see how deep it is." 



It fell in the dusk of the night 

When unco things betide, 
The skilly captain, the Cameron, 

Went down to that waterside. 240 

351 



BALLADS 

Canny and soft the captain went; 

And a man of the woody land, 
With the shaven head and the painted face, 

Went down at his right hand. 
It fell in the quiet night, 

There was never a sound to ken ; 
But all of the woods to the right and the left 

Lay filled with the painted men. 

*'Far have I been and much have I seen, 
250 Both as a man and boy, 

But never have I set forth a foot 
On so perilous an employ." 

It fell in the dusk of the night 

When unco things betide. 
That he was aware of a captain-man 

Drew near to the waterside. 
He was aware of his coming 

Down in the gloaming alone; 
And he looked in the face of the man 
260 And lo! the face was his own. 

"This is my weird," he said, 

"And now I ken the worst; 
For many shall fall the morn, 

But I shall fall with the first. 
O, you of the outland tongue. 

You of the painted face, 
This is the place of my death ; 

Can you tell me the name of the place ? * 
352 



TICONDEROGA 

" Since the Frenchmen have been here 

They have called it Sault-Marie; 270 

But that is a name for priests, 

And not for you and me. 
It went by another word," 

Quoth he of the shaven head: , 

" It was called Ticonderoga 

In the days of the great dead." 

And it fell on the morrow's morning. 

In the fiercest of the fight, 
That the Cameron bit the dust 

As he foretold at night ; ^^ 

And far from the hills of heather, 

Far from the isles of the sea. 
He sleeps in the place of the name 

As it was doomed to be. 



353 



NOTES TO TICONDEROGA 

Introduction. — I first heard this legend of my own country from 
that friend of men of letters, Mr. Alfred Nutt, " there in roaring Lon- 
don's central stream "; and since the ballad first saw the light of day 
in Scribner's Magazine, Mr. Nutt and Lord Archibald Campbell have 
been in public controversy on the facts. Two clans, the Camerons 
and the Campbells, lay claim to this bracing story; and they do well: 
the man who preferred his plighted troth to the commands and men- 
aces of the dead is an ancestor worth disputing. But the Campbells 
must rest content : they have the broad lands and the broad page of 
history; this appanage must be denied them; for between the name 
of Cameron and that of Campbell, the muse will never hesitate. 

Note I, verse 67. Mr. Nutt reminds me it was " by my sword and 
Ben Cruachan " the Cameron swore. 

Note 2, verse 159. " A periwig' d lord of London." The first 
Pitt. 

Note 3, verse 204. " Cathay." There must be some omission in 
General Stewart's charming " History of the Highland Regiments," a 
book that might well be republished and continued; or it scarce 
appears how our friend could have got to China. 



354 



HEATHER ALE 



HEATHER ALE 

A GALLOWAY LEGEND 



FROM the bonny bells of heather 
They brewed a drink long-syne. 
Was sweeter far than honey. 

Was stronger far than wine. 
They brewed it and they drank it, 

And lay in a blessed swound 
For days and days together 
In their dwellings underground. 

There rose a king in Scotland, 

A fell man to his foes, lO 

He smote the Picts in battle, 

He hunted them like roes. 
Over miles of the red mountain 

He hunted as they fled. 
And strewed the dwarfish bodies 

Of the dying and the dead. 

Summer came in the country. 

Red was the heather bell ; 
But the manner of the brewing 

Was none alive to tell. 30 

357 



BALLADS 

In graves that were like children's 
On many a mountain head, 

The Brewsters of the Heather 
Lay numbered with the dead. 

The king in the red moorland 
Rode on a summer's day; 

And the bees hummed, and the curlews 
Cried beside the way. 

The king rode, and was angry, 
90 Black was his brow and pale, 

To rule in a land of heather 
And lack the Heather Ale. 

It fortuned that his vassals. 
Riding free on the heath. 

Came on a stone that was fallen 
And vermin hid beneath. 

Rudely plucked from their hiding, 
Never a word they spoke: 

A son and his aged father — 
40 Last of the dwarfish folk. 

The king sat high on his charger, 

He looked on the little men; 
And the dwarfish and swarthy couple 

Looked at the king again. 
Down by the shore he had them; 

And there on the giddy brink — 
" I will give you life, ye vermin, 

For the secret of the drink." 
358 



HEATHER ALE 

There stood the son and father 

And they looked high and low; 50 

The heather was red around them, 

The sea rumbled below. 
And up and spoke the father, 

Shrill was his voice to hear: 
" I have a word in private, 

A word for the royal ear. 

" Life is dear to the aged, 

And honour a little thing; 
I would gladly sell the secret," 

Quoth the Pict to the king. 60 

His voice was small as a sparrow's. 

And shrill and wonderful clear: 
"I would gladly sell my secret. 

Only my son I fear. 

"For life is a little matter, 

And death is nought to the young; 
And I dare not sell my honour 

Under the eye of my son. 
Take him, O king, and bind him. 

And cast him far in the deep; 'Jo 

And it's I will tell the secret 

That I have sworn to keep." 

They took the son and bound him, 

Neck and heels in a thong, 
And a lad took him and swung him, 

And flung him far and strong, 

359 



8o 



BALLADS 



And the sea swallowed his body, 
Like that of a child of ten ; — 

And there on the cliff stood the father. 
Last of the dwarfish men. 



"True was the word I told you: 

Only my son I feared ; 
For I doubt the sapling courage 

That goes without the beard. 
But now in vain is the torture. 

Fire shall never avail: 
Here dies in my bosom 

The secret of Heather Ale." 



?6o 



« NOTE TO HEATHER ALE 

Among the curiosities of human nature, this legend claims a high 
place. It is needless to remind the reader that the Picts were never ex- 
terminated, and form to this day a large proportion of the folk of 
Scotland: occupying the eastern and the central parts, from the Firth of 
Forth, or perhaps the Lammermoors, upon the south, to the Ord of 
Caithness on the north. That the blundering guess of a dull chronicler 
should have inspired men with imaginary loathing for their own an- 
cestors is already strange: that it should have begotten this wild legend 
seems incredible. Is it possible the chronicler's error was merely nom- 
inal ? that what he told, and what the people proved themselves so 
ready to receive, about the Picts, was true or partly true of some aTi« 
terior and perhaps Lappish savages, small of stature, black of hue, 
dwelling underground — possibly also the distillers of some forgotten 
spirit? See Mr. Campbell's Tales of the IVest Highlands. 



361 



CHRISTMAS AT SEA 



CHRISTMAS AT SEA 

THE sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked 
hand; 
The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce 

could stand; 
The wind was a nor' wester, blowing squally off the sea ; 
And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things 
a-lee. 

They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day; 
But 't was only with the peep of light we saw how ill 

we lay. 
We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout, 
And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go 

about. 

All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head 

and the North ; 
All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further lo 

forth ; 
All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread, 
For very life and nature we tacked from head to head. 

365 



BALLADS 

We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide- 
race roared; 

But every tack we made we brought the North Head 
close aboard : 

So 's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers 
running high, 

And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against 
his eye. 

The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean 
foam ; 

The good red fires were burning bright in every 'long- 
shore home; 

The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed 
out; 
20 And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went 
about. 

The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty 

jovial cheer; 
For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in 

the year) 
This day of our adversity was blessed Christmas morn, 
And the house above the coastguard's was the house 

where I was born. 

O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there, 
My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair; 
And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves, 
Go dancing round the china-plates that stand upon the 
shelves. 

366 



CHRISTMAS AT SEA 

And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was 
of me, 

Of the shadow on the household and the son that went 30 
to sea ; 

And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way, 

To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christ- 
mas Day. 

They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall. 
"All hands to loose topgallant sails," I heard the captain 

call. 
"By the Lord, she'll never stand it," our first mate, 

Jackson, cried. 
. . . " It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson," 

he replied. 

She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new 

and good. 
And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she 

understood. 
As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the 

night, 
We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the 40 

light. 

And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board 

but me. 
As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to 

sea; 
But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the 

cold. 
Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were 

growing old. 

367 



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